


'Twixt flower and faded leaf

by Candolor



Series: Heaven By the Sea [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is a Sweetheart, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It takes Erik awhile to figure out what he feels, Madame Giry loves Meg a lot, Meg Giry sings but in a less operatic way and only in private, Protective Erik, in this house we stan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 50,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candolor/pseuds/Candolor
Summary: It all started in a moment of weakness. And then an attempt to make things right. A boat to America. And then a home by the beach.He started off not knowing whether she was simply a bandage to his bleeding heart and she started off with a caring heart her father told her she had inherited from him.Theirs was a story that did not begin with love but found it along the way. He became the music she danced to and she became the muse he wrote for.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Meg Giry
Series: Heaven By the Sea [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820143
Comments: 154
Kudos: 42





	1. Spring's Bedfellow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is my first PotO fanfic and I will say this idea had been in my head for years but I’m just finally getting to writing this story! This was a lot of fun to try and write and I hope you guys like this just as much as I did when I was writing it!

_Spring went about the woods to-day,  
The soft-foot winter-thief,  
And found where idle sorrow lay  
'Twixt flower and faded leaf._

_She looked on him, and found him fair  
For all she had been told;  
She knelt adown beside him there,  
And sang of days of old._

_His open eyes beheld her nought,  
Yet 'gan his lips to move;  
But life and deeds were in her thought,  
And he would sing of love._

_So sang they till their eyes did meet,  
And faded fear and shame;  
More bold he grew, and she more sweet,  
Until they sang the same._

_Until, say they who know the thing,  
Their very lips did kiss,  
And Sorrow laid abed with Spring  
Begat an earthly bliss._

**-Spring's Bedfellow, William Morris**

* * *

* * *

Christine had left him and he had no one else in this world.

No one who would look upon his face without fear.

No one who would love him.

Erik moved listlessly through the dark cavern he had made in the early days of the Opera Populaire with no purpose in mind. He had planned to leave for America in the coming days but Daroga had not yet come with his passport.

So he simply waited. 

He had stored preserved foods in the cavern but he did not eat.

He had hidden away wines and casks of beer but he did not drink.

He had stored a mattress and blanket but he did not sleep.

He merely sat in the darkness in a room that stored a box of candles and waited.

That was when he heard the footsteps once more.

In the past days he had been hearing it. Light and gentle, measured but free. The visitor was a dancer, that much he knew. Young? Clearly. But he never left his cage, his prison and sanctuary. 

Who would wish to see this wretch of a man?

This sub-human that all would run from at the merest glance?

He heard careful knocks on the wall as if the visitor was seeking him out. Light but sure and carefully timed.

As always, he did not respond.

His visitor had been doing this since his disappearance. Visiting for three days now, she would come with footsteps louder than a proper dancer would have done, knocking on walls and wandering his lair. How she could find a way through the lake, he never knew but he always stayed quiet.

But today, his visitor did not wish to play their silent game of hide and seek.

Instead, she finally spoke and the voice of Mlle. Giry greeted him in the depths of darkness.

‘Monsieur Fantôme?’ 

Erik looked at the hidden entry of his cavern and was surprised at how near she sounded. Had she figured out a way to enter? Had she figured out there may be a hidden room within? He cannot allow such a person to live if that were the case.

Rising, he took his lasso and decided, for all the kindness Hélène had given him, he is afraid he shall have to lose that kindness if he wished to leave for America. It will be a selfish choice, granted, but her daughter was nothing to him.

Opening the hidden door to his cavern, he was preparing to kill Marguerite Giry when he caught sight of her.

She was sopping wet, her hair which had been tied back in a braid had been drenched and frayed, but in her hands, wrapped so tightly that he did not think the contents would have been wet at all was a box of sorts. 

The hand holding the punjab lasso fell and he looked at the younger Giry in confusion.

‘I wasn’t sure if you were eating or if you had extra clothes or if you were cold.’ She stammered out by way of explanation. ‘I have a metalsmith friend who helped me make this... _thing_ so that I could store as much supplies as I can here when I visit and the water won’t get in when I lug it out of the boat.’

‘Hence the sopping state you are in.’ Erik replied at last, casting a critical eye over the ballerina who was still holding the - apparently - metal chest.

Paying no mind to his comment, Meg dropped the metal box with a loud clang and Erik cringed at the noise it had made. Erik stepped back and observed Meg as she unlatched the metal box and began taking out various things from a picnic basket with the scent of food wafting up to him to clothes that were clearly that of a man’s that was some sizes larger than him.

‘Those will not fit.’ Erik pointed out as Meg began carefully folding the clothes.

‘Tuck the shirt in, I just need to make some adjustments and to clean whatever clothes you have.’ Meg answered easily. ‘I had to search for Papa’s clothes. The ones Mama would not miss.’

Erik was silent as Meg finally finished unpacking what she had brought. It was a feast and she had even laid out a picnic blanket on the floor. A lantern was lit in the middle with the foods arranged neatly on it. The clothes she had folded was laid carefully on the side Erik assumed was his and though he had no desire to eat, the Opera Ghost still found himself sitting.

‘Mademoiselle Giry, why are you doing this?’ He asked warily as he took the bottle of wine from the ballerina.

He did not drink from it and only set it down beside him. Meg was cutting up some bread and placing cold meat on it, not minding his question until she had finished assembling the bread.

‘Why can I not do this?’ She asked in return holding out her hand for the bottle which Erik returned. ‘Christine was my best friend, Raoul was kind to me but at the end of the day they were happy when they left.’

Meg met his gaze and he flinched at the compassion in her dark eyes. They were not a captivating sky blue like Christine’s but dark like ink.

‘You’re alone, Monsieur Fantôme.’ She said simply. ‘No one deserves to be alone.’

Such a simple statement led Erik to grow silent at the dancer’s words. She did not seem to see what she had said had affected him and had only begun assembling food once more, this time for herself.

‘Why do you stay?’ He asked this time.

‘I was told once upon a time by a man with eyes who laugh and lips who sang that being lonely makes for good musicians and early deaths.’ 

‘And who was that that told you such a lie?’

‘My father.’

Erik met Meg’s gaze and he made to apologise only for him to see no trace of hurt. She was only looking at him carefully.

And then she smiled.

‘I remember seeing your face in Don Juan Triumphant.’ She mumbled as she lifted the bottle to her lips and drank from it. ‘You do not look so bad without the mask.’

Her words reminded Erik at last as to _why_ exactly he was hiding. He brought a hand to cover the deformity of his face and scrambled to stand, accidentally stepping on M. Giry’s clothes in the process. He was stammering out apologies and trying to retreat into his cavern when he heard the clattering of a glass bottle followed by careless steps.

And then a hand grasping his bicep.

Erik halted, his face turned away so she would not have to see the monstrosity that was his face. Feeling slender fingers under his chin, he felt his head turned to face Meg Giry’s gaze.

‘Monsieur Fantôme,’ Meg started, ‘There is nothing to fear with me.’ She said with a small smile.

Erik looked at the darkness of her eyes and she was speaking the truth. But still, the Phantom did not bring down his hand and shrank away when Meg brought her hand to his cheek. 

‘Why do you not scream, child?’ He asked, voice breaking.

Meg was silent for a moment.

And then she spoke, with the sweetest of tones that Erik had heard for one who had never sung.

‘Because I don’t see a reason to now that I’d met you myself.’

As if a dam broke within him, Erik sank to the floor and sobbed brokenly, his hands coming up to cling onto Meg Giry’s skirts and he felt Meg pry his hands off her. The loss was felt but he was unsurprised as he was not anything people would ever stay for. 

But then he felt Meg pull him up and guide him towards his cavern. She laid him down on the mattress and sang a quiet lullaby to him as if to soothe a child. Erik only held her close and sobbed into rough skirts that was still damp from the lake until he ran out of tears to shed. When he was far more stable, Erik felt Meg about to rise and leave but he clung to her still.

‘Stay.’ He spoke, his voice muffled slightly. ‘Please.’

Meg did not respond but instead, she carefully pried his hands off. When Erik looked at her, he saw she had removed her skirt and was removing her shoes as well. Meeting his gaze, Meg blushed slightly before shrugging.

‘Being damp and cold is awful. I’d rather just be cold.’

‘You can be neither.’ Erik said at last.

Surprise flickered in her dark eyes before she accepted the hand he offered. 

Erik would say he meant nothing malicious when he had said such a thing. Only that he wished to offer her warmth and prove to himself that he was capable of being even a quarter of a man in terms of manners so she would not freeze. But as she drew closer to him, Erik leaned up to kiss her on the cheek and Meg responded by baring her neck to him. He hesitated and then he heard Meg’s whispered “ _I don’t mind._ ” And though he hesitated still and halted his movements every step of the way, Meg did not say anything to spite him. She helped him undress with deft fingers and was patient throughout.

When it was finished, Erik was about to fall asleep when Meg was carefully putting her clothes on once more. 

‘I apologise for that, Mademoiselle Giry.’ Erik said, his voice hushed.

Meg looked at him, her cheeks coloured a rosy shade.

‘I should be apologising. You were my first, Monsieur Fantôme, I’m afraid I was not very good at it.’ Meg said.

With that, the dancer left Erik.

A coldness settled within the Phantom and he felt ill at the thought. He had taken her maidenhead and it was not even done out of love but a pathetic grief in him that sought and begged for companionship.

He had to fix this.


	2. Mother

_Your mother never gave up her wild.  
You can still see it in her eyes  
when something makes her ache.  
The way a wolf's eyes gleam  
with ferocity  
when she senses  
her young is in danger._

**-Mother, Nikita Gill**

* * *

* * *

Hélène Giry sat at the dining table, her gaze focused on her daughter. Meg had returned late the night prior, her dress was all but ruined with how filthy it was, her hair was damp with water and her cheeks flushed. When she asked what it was she had been up to, Meg only replied with a smile and a shrug the same way she and her father used to do whenever the two would sneak off to donate clothes that the two had mended carefully.

Though Hélène often scolded her late husband and daughter for it, she would always smile at those memories with great fondness. She had faith that her little Meg would be doing the right thing. She knew her daughter too well.

‘Mama, do you think we have some of the jam I’d made that I could give away?’ 

Hélène smiled fondly at her daughter’s question. Of course she would still be doing what her father had done. Setting the book she had opened on the table, she went to check the cupboards and took note of the six different jams Meg had created.

‘Which are you willing to part with?’ She called out.

‘The blueberry one, that one was my best one by far!’ 

Trust her little Marguerite to want to give the best thing she had made. Hélène knew she had done well in raising Meg and she knew her husband would have been so proud to see their daughter echoing him in his mannerisms. Taking the jam her daughter had specified, Hélène had proceeded to look for someplace to store the charitable gift her daughter had designs of giving.

‘Oh, Mama, let me!’ Meg cried out as she rushed to take the jam from Hélène’s hand.

For though Hélène was known to be a strict dance instructor, she was still a loving mother. In the sanctity of their home, Meg knew her to laugh and smile fondly at her little quirks. Meg saw a side of her that the Opera Populaire was never privy to.

‘Meg, let me help. Whoever is to receive your kindness shall be lucky enough to see the sun shining on them.’ Hélène responded, cupping Meg’s face with her hand before pulling away and continuing her search for a basket.

With a huff, Meg simply continued in her search for supplies that Hélène did not know of. Having found an old basket she had no purpose for, the dance instructor placed the jar inside and went to call her daughter only for Meg to rush in with various things in her arms.

Parchment.

Pens.

A sewing kit.

She thought she caught a glimpse of something else but her daughter moved too quickly for her to be able to discern what it was.

When Meg was finishing with her package, a knock sounded at their door. Giving a reassuring pat to Meg’s head, Hélène left the room and went to the door. Opening it, she responded with a hiss.

‘Madame Giry.’ The Opera Ghost said by way of a greeting, his voice uncomfortable. He had on a mask that seemed to mirror a normal face quite easily. 

It was unnerving.

‘What brings you to my home?’ She asked, her voice stiff.

Erik responded by holding out a bouquet of red poppies, mints and purple hyacinths.

‘I have come to speak with you about your daughter.’

Inhaling sharply, Hélène looked at the room where Meg was still likely trying to make the basket look more presentable to whoever she was going to give it to. Opening the door wider, the dance instructor gestured for Erik to enter.

The moment Erik had entered, the first thing that came from his lips were words she never thought he would direct at her or anyone that was not Christine Daaé.

‘Forgive me.’

* * *

Meg was just finishing the final touches to her next surprise for Monsieur Fantôme when her mother called her. Pausing as she rearranged the music sheets she had bought, Meg frowned slightly.

‘What is it, Mama?’ She called out as she tried to fit another inkwell inside the basket.

‘Célestine Marguerite Giry, come here _at once_.’ Meg paused.

She was rarely called her first name at all by her mother. Whoever had come must have shaken her Mama enough to invoke such a reaction from her. Leaving the basket, Meg went to the sitting room and stopped at the sight.

Seated stiffly upright, a cup and saucer held in his hands was Monsieur Fantôme himself.

* * *

Erik felt his shame further grow when he heard Hélène call for her daughter’s name in full. He did not even know that her name was not Marguerite alone. When he heard familiar footsteps enter the room, Erik stilled at the sight of Meg Giry who looked shocked at the sight of him.

‘Meg, sit down.’

* * *

Hélène did not want to believe what it was Erik had told her. She found it to be an impossible thought that her daughter would do such a thing and she truly wished she did not have to listen to such drivel. But Erik had never dared to lie to her. He told her of whatever thought he had and he went through with whatever plan he told her when she would ask. 

In this, she knew he would not lie of as well.

If this were a lie, there was nothing to gain. But with Erik deflowering her daughter, she had to speak with Meg so she could be certain that none of this was just a hallucination Erik had had.

‘Is this true?’ She asked, her tone warning her daughter that lying would have consequences. 

Meg’s head was bowed when Hélène told her daughter what the Opera Ghost had come to tell her. She did not speak, she did not object to anything at all.

But she just wanted to make sure.

‘ _Marguerite_.’ Hélène repeated.

Meg looked up and she did not see tears in her daughter’s eyes.

‘Monsieur Fantôme did not lie, Mama.’ She said, her voice steady as it had always been. ‘I came to seek him out with food and clothes. He asked me to stay. I did.’

Taking in a sharp breath. Hélène nodded. Of course, her daughter would do such a thing. Meg was no stranger to carnal desires, but she never engaged. She was more fond of the thought of romances but never sought out escapades for herself. Yet she was still familiar with that. The fact that Erik was hurting and lonely must have moved her to make such a decision and led to the situation they were in right now.

‘What are your intentions?’ Hélène asked sharply, addressing Erik.

As if surprised that he was being addressed at all, the Opera Ghost sat up and he looked unsure for a moment. Hélène did not bother trying to curb the cold glare in her eyes. For though she knew Meg was fully aware of what she was doing, she refuses to have her daughter merely be _used_ as if she was a tool. A thing.

‘I am aware what I had done was dishonourable.’

‘In that you are correct.’

‘I can think that you would refuse monetary compensation.’

‘I will do so with great spite.’

Meeting her gaze with his yellow eyes, Erik spoke his solution.

‘Then I would ask for your blessing that I marry your child to make this right.’

Hélène refrained from cursing and pressed her lips tightly together. Her hands tightened its hold on one another on her lap and she looked at her daughter who looked surprised. At her age, she can marry already but still, she had always told her daughter how she and her Papa had married for love and now she was to deny her daughter this?

‘I ref-’

‘I accept.’ 

Once more, Meg’s steady voice broke through and caught both mother and Opera Ghost in surprise.


	3. Icarus Warning

_Some things are beautiful,_   
_but they are beautiful in the way_   
_of the sun._   
_If you fly too close,_   
_they will melt your wings_   
_and send you plummeting_   
_into the sea._

**-Icarus Warning, Nikita Gill**

* * *

* * *

Hélène had taken Meg to the dining room where she felt Erik would not hear them. Sitting her daughter down, Hélène crossed her arms and waited for Meg to explain what had gone through her mind to accept such a proposal from a murderer.

‘He is alone, Mama.’ Came Meg’s innocent explanation,

Hélène sucked in a sharp breath and looked at her daughter carefully.

‘All your life, Marguerite.’ She said, her voice quiet but heated. ‘All your life you had told me how you wanted to marry a man who loved you as your Papa had loved me, how you wanted to have a family with that man who would treat you as a gentleman would.’

‘Oh, Mama.’ Meg sighed.

She reached out and took Hélène’s hand, pressing her lips onto Hélène’s knuckles. Meg smiled at her mother and she shrugged.

‘Mama, I  _ do  _ want that.’ She confessed. ‘But I do not think that will happen to me in this lifetime. All dalliances and little love notes I got will always be just that. I’m the girl the boys will fancy for the summer and then pursue others for their wives and I’m alright with that.’

Hélène’s heart broke as she heard the calm acceptance in her daughter’s voice. She had seen those short courtships happen and she saw how Meg would graciously accept the end of each courtship, how she would always present flowers to her former lovers as her farewell and how she would wish him luck on his future romances. And all the while, Meg continued to find romances for her friends in the Populaire or support them throughout. 

She loved more than Hélène thought was possible for a person.

‘Then why put yourself in a marriage for a man who would not love you?’ She asked, her tone gentle.

Meg smiled that smile she had given Hélène after her husband’s funeral. The smile that said she knew what she was doing, the smile she had given before she sold her best dresses and had taken small jobs until Hélène picked herself up and resumed her duties. The smile of one who promised a grieving mother that all shall be well.

‘Because I don’t want anyone to be alone in the depths of their pain, Mama.’ She said softly. ‘I know he is going to marry me to make this right, but I will marry him to give him a home. I think he deserves that.’

‘My little Meg.’ Hélène sighed, pulling her daughter into a tight embrace. ‘Only if you are certain, my sweet. Only if you truly wish for this. I shall not stop you, I know you too well to even try.’

‘I do want this, Mama.’ Meg answered, holding onto her just as tightly. ‘I helped Christine and Raoul find their way out of the maze that is Monsieur Fantôme’s lair, I will help  _ him _ find a way out of the darkness of his pain.’

Cupping Meg’s cheek, Hélène bit her lip before finally speaking what was her worry.

‘For all the kindness in your heart, my love, always remember this man had killed and hurt. For all his genius and skills in the arts, never forget that.’ She bade her daughter.

Meg kept silent but she saw the promise in her daughter’s eyes.

In those dark eyes that mirrored hers’, Hélène Giry took comfort.

* * *

Hélène did not want to allow her daughter to wed him. Meg deserved much better than a wedding borne out of pity but Meg was her father’s daughter and many a time had her husband stuck to his plans and refused to see it fail. Taking Meg by the hand, Hélène led her daughter back to the sitting room where Erik was still seated stiffly. When Hélène drew close, she noted how he did not even drink the cup of tea she had given him.

She made no comment and only bade her daughter speak with him and make plans while she sees to dinner.

‘I shall leave you two to dine.’ Erik offered, rising already.

Firmly, Hélène pushed Erik back on the settee and gestured for them both to speak with one another.

‘You will dine with us. If you are to be my son-in-law, I may as well see to it we are to get along.’ She said with an air of finality as she left the two alone.

* * *

Erik was uncomfortable in the presence of little Giry. Her hair was no longer damp, it was lively, waves of gold cascaded over her shoulders and she sat primly but in a manner that indicated an ease in her posture as well. But Erik did not pay any mind to that and only watched her warily as she sat beside him.

‘Shall I take your tea?’ She offered. ‘It’s gone cold and I don’t think anyone would like cold tea overmuch.’

Erik relinquished his teacup and watched as his now fiancée set the cup gently on the coffee table and she resumed to her position.

‘You understand that I am doing this to make things right.’ Erik said at last. ‘That I had stolen your purity and I must do this if I wish to at least prove to myself I have a shred of humanity within this dark wretchedness in me.’

Little Giry looked upon him and she tilted her head to one side ‘I’ve no doubt about that, Monsieur Fantôme.’ She replied. ‘You love someone else and I’ll accept your proposal because it’s only right.’

Much to Erik’s surprise, little Giry decided to hold her hand out to him in the manner of one expecting a handshake.

‘Nonetheless, perhaps we could get along well with each other.’ She said with a small smile.

He did not doubt she would be an amiable lady to live with but Erik did not dignify her wishes with a verbal answer. He only shook her hand and lapsed further into silence.

‘I have plans to leave for America.’ Erik said at last. ‘After we are wed, I shall have my contact prepare another passport for you and we shall sail the moment he comes.’

He waited for an outburst from her but she was quiet. She looked contemplative and Erik was uncertain if she was displeased and if she was in any way regretting their spontaneous engagement.

‘You shall have to say your farewells to your mother after we are wed.’

And yet, little Giry was now the one without words.

The two sat in an uncomfortable silence and Erik was certain that this silence was unheard of in a house such as this. Distantly, he was aware of the kitchen’s sounds with Mme. Giry’s voice filtering through every few moments.

A knock resounded on the door and little Giry rose and left the room to answer it.

Erik remained seated.

‘Yes?’ Came his fiancée’s voice.

‘I am looking for Erik?’ An unmistakeable accent was heard and Erik rose, going to the entryway, putting his mask on in the process.

‘Daroga, you are late.’ He called out to the dark-skinned man that stood before him and Meg Giry.

The Daroga only shot him a confused look as if asking why he was in such a residence as this but he quickly returned his attention to Meg who was smiling at him in greeting.

‘May I come in?’ He asked politely.

And so, he was let in.


	4. The More Loving One

_ Looking up at the stars, I know quite well  
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,  
But on earth indifference is the least  
We have to dread from man or beast. _

_ How should we like it were stars to burn  
With a passion for us we could not return?  
If equal affection cannot be,  
Let the more loving one be me. _

_ Admirer as I think I am  
Of stars that do not give a damn,  
I cannot, now I see them, say  
I missed one terribly all day. _

_ Were all stars to disappear or die,  
I should learn to look at an empty sky  
And feel its total dark sublime,  
Though this might take me a little time. _

**-The More Loving One, W.H. Auden**

* * *

* * *

Hasan Azadi had cared for Erik a great deal and considered himself to be quite a good friend to the Opera Ghost. Granted, he was well aware Erik did not see themselves in that light but still, he chose to see the two of them as friends to an extent. That was why he willingly went through the trouble of fetching a passport for Erik and had secured all matters Erik needed while going about his day to day life. Of course, the matter took him some days to accomplish but still, he accomplished them. When he arrived at Erik’s lair, however, he was surprised to see it was completely empty. The hidden cavern that Erik had told him of was barren and all that greeted the Persian was a note scrawled in his clumsy handwriting.

**_If you know Mme. Giry’s residence, meet me there._ ** **_  
_** **_If not. I shall fetch you from your home by 6.00 in the evening._ ** **_  
_** **_There are matters I must attend to._ **

**_-Erik_ **

Seeing as he was quite familiar with Madame Giry, Hasan went to the residence by cab, the documents he had procured still hidden deep within the contents of his bag. Having arrived, he knocked as politely as one could knock and was greeted with the radiant smile of the ballet instructor’s daughter. He had met her a few times and she was a gentle but strong young woman who would eagerly converse with him and ask about his home in Persia. He found that she was deeply curious about the world and that she had expressed a desire to go abroad just to see the world her parents had seen in their youths.

Marguerite Giry, or Little Meg as everyone addressed her, was a unique one for Hasan.

And unique she was for Erik had appeared behind her, ordered Hasan inside and informed the Persian that he was to marry her that very same night.

He could already feel the beginnings of a headache in his temples.

* * *

‘We cannot have a public wedding.’ Monsieur Fantôme told Meg who nodded. ‘And our only witnesses shall be Daroga and your mother.’

‘That is understandable.’ Meg said as she went to a bookshelf that had carvings done by rough and loving hands. She took out a book her father had given her in her youth and returned to sit.

Her fiancé continued to speak.

‘I suppose we can allow some feminine frivolity for this seeing as I wish to be fair to you.’ He said reluctantly. ‘Flowers and perhaps a few other additional things you can scrounge together by tonight.’

‘Or I can just wear my Sunday best and have Mama help me with what I need.’ Meg suggested.

Reaching over, she placed a hand on the Opera Ghost’s hand who flinched at the contact.

She drew away and gave a smile that was not as wide as her usual smiles.

‘Time is important for your escape and I can adjust to it.’ She assured her fiancé.

The Opera Ghost looked at her oddly before stiffly excusing himself and leaving to approach the Persian, Monsieur Azadi, who was in Papa’s old study. 

Now that she was alone, Meg closed her book and went to her mother who had finished arranging their dinner. Embracing the ballet instructor, Meg took in the familiar scent of her Mama and took comfort from the familiarity.

She would miss this comfort.

‘Mama?’ She mumbled, her voice muffled slightly by her mother’s gown.

‘Yes, Meg?’ 

‘Can you help me get changed later? For the wedding?’ She asked quietly.

Though she was embracing her mother from behind, she could imagine her mother’s expression quite well. She heard a hissed word under her Mama’s breath before her mother pulled away from her embrace and turned around to face her.

‘So soon?’ Her mother asked quietly.

Meg nodded.

‘Monsieur Fantôme had said he had plans to go to America and that I must say goodbye to you because of that.’ For a moment, Meg was aware her voice wavered from the steady calm she had mastered in speaking and she sounded frightened and unsure.

Her Mama did not miss that waver and pulled her into a tight embrace.

‘Do not fret, my heart.’ Mama told her, her voice firm and certain the way it’s always been. ‘Mama will find a way to make this better.’

* * *

‘Perhaps you can use the gown you were supposed to wear for the masquerade?’ Hélène suggested as she and Meg carefully packed away most of Meg’s daywear and nightclothes into trunks and bags.

Meg paused and Hélène could see a wistfulness in her daughter’s eyes.

She could remember how eagerly her daughter had designed that gown and all its details. How she had saved every amount she had to be able to buy all the fabric she needed. How she had crafted wings to add to the ensemble. Meg had even learned to make a porcelain mask painted with gold detailings to give a hauntingly beautiful design.

At the end of it all, Meg decided to wear a costume she had created from scraps of old and worn costumes. When Hélène asked why Meg would not wear a costume she had worked so hard to create, her daughter smiled and shrugged.

_“I don’t want to give myself airs, Mama. Besides, I’m just a chorus girl, so I think I’ll save this for a day when I could wear it and not feel like I’m stealing anything when I do.”_

And so the costume of a Sylph Queen was hidden away and the pink suit was worn.

And Meg was still happy until the Red Death came.

Brought back to the present, Hélène looked at her daughter who looked at the gown that was still there with its mask and wings and she shook her head.

‘It’s a quiet wedding, Mama.’ Said her daughter. ‘I think my Sunday best would be enough.’

Hélène conceded to her daughter’s words and helped her daughter get changed.

* * *

That evening, Hélène and Hasan took the couple to a chapel a fair distance away from anyone they knew. Hasan had known the priest and had sworn him to secrecy, wanting to keep any rumours from flying. Meg had indeed worn her Sunday best, but braided in her hair and styled quite delicately were silk flowers that Hélènr had worn in her wedding to her husband.

It was the least she could have done for her daughter.

The wedding was silent, solemnity reigned over them and it felt more like a funeral than a wedding. Erik was stiff in his words and swiftly slipped the ring onto Meg’s finger without further prompting. But Meg still somehow found herself asking the priest if she was allowed to give her own vows. Taking his left hand into both of hers, her dark eyes looked into Erik’s and Hélène saw those soulful compassionate eyes burning into the eyes of one who had no feelings for her.

It twisted a fierce pain within Hélène’s heart to see that.

Her Aurelien would grieve to see his daughter treated like this.

Meg’s voice was soft as she spoke her vows.

‘I swear by peace and love to stand heart to heart and hand in hand. Mark, dear Lord, and hear me now, confirming this my sacred vow.’

Erik seemed surprised at such a vow but Meg only smiled in response.

Hélène recognised this vow as something her husband had told Meg once upon a time inside Meg’s room where he made up fairytales for her and danced and sang with her. Hélène took in a trembling breath. She was aware of the Persian pulling her close as if to comfort and she permitted the gesture.

The priest, a young man with shining grey eyes and a beauty that is almost fae-like, looked at the couple and smiled an unsure smile.

‘I pronounce you man and wife.’

There was no kiss.

* * *

‘I suppose you may call me Erik now.’ Erik said reluctantly to his wife.

Marguerite looked at him with surprise and she smiled. ‘I’ll remember to do that.’ She agreed as Erik helped her into their cab. 

As they rode past a cemetery, Meg asked the driver to stop and Erik was about to snap at his wife for asking for an unnecessary stop until he saw Daroga and Madame Giry’s cab had stopped as well. He caught sight of his mother-in-law stepping out with the Daroga’s help who proceeded to bring the mother and daughter together.

Instructing the driver to stay, Erik rushed out and followed the three into the cemetery. He kept a distance and saw his wife and mother-in-law approach a tombstone that was plain in nature - very much unlike Christine’s father’s tomb that had a more ornate tomb - and he watched as Meg and Hélène sat in front of the tomb and they spoke.

Erik waited for fifteen minutes and that was when the two women and the Daroga returned. He pretended not to have seen the tear tracks on his wife’s face and only draped his coat over her shoulders.

* * *

Their dinner was a silent affair and upon its end, Hasan had excused himself and asked his wife if she could direct him to her father’s study which Meg had done after excusing herself.

Erik had eaten what food he had been given after Madame Giry had expressed that he needed to eat. Her tone brooked no arguments from him. With dinner done, Erik was handing all the cutlery and plates to his mother-in-law who was letting it soak while also boiling water for coffee. It was an uncomfortable silence but Erik refused to break it.

‘I shall be coming to America with you.’ Hélène said at last, her tone final.

Erik scoffed. ‘I highly doubt it.’ He remarked. ‘I must escape and Meg is to come with me but I do not know if you shall be able to come along.’

Hélène looked at him blankly before she returned to her task. ‘I had already taken out my life savings, Erik.’ She explained. ‘All I had earned and all Meg had earned because I planned to take her elsewhere. Now you had married her, you shall be taking her elsewhere but I know my Marguerite and she shall always miss me.’ Wiping her hand on a dishcloth, Hélène looked at Erik.

‘I shall be with you when you sail and there is no argument to be had in that. I shall procure tickets and a passport for myself and when you are ready, we shall sail.’

Erik sighed, massaging his forehead.

‘Very well.’ He grit out.

* * *

Erik did not think he would have to share a room with Meg. Though he supposed that that was what being married would entail. He noted how many of her things had already been packed away, she had already begun adjusting for him. That unnerved Erik as he had never known anyone to make such adjustments. Looking at his wife that slept on her side of the bed, a halo of gold spread on her pillow, Erik tried to wrap his head around the fact that he was now wed.

He did not love her. But he married her.

With his mind a tempest of thoughts, Erik laid down on his side of the bed and turned away from his wife, trying to quell the guilt and shame that still gnawed at him, reminding him of his actions that had led to this loveless marriage.


	5. A Prayer For Travellers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you guys get a short-ish chapter for today but don't worry! The next one will be a bit longer! I hope you guys will enjoy this!

May the road rise up to meet you.   
May the wind be always at your back.  
May the sun shine warm upon your face;  
The rains fall soft upon your fields.   
And until we meet again,   
May God hold you in the palm of His hand. 

**-A Prayer For Travellers, Anonymous**

* * *

They had managed to remain in Paris for another week.

It was an uncomfortably long week for the Opera Ghost as his wife had shown a side of her that felt oo personal for him. He woke to see her reading a book or doing stretches. Seeing her dressing and undressing was something he found normal after their first tryst in the darkness of the ruins of the Populaire but to see her in the quiet moments where she was just simply being herself…

The sight made Erik feel as if he were an intruder.

After that week was done, Meg and his mother-in-law had taken care of all the affairs they had to handle and had written wills and notes to all they considered dear to them. Erik was already in the cab waiting while Meg handled some last things she had to take care of. How the Girys’ schedules were this full without employment, Erik will never know and he would rather keep it that way. When his wife returned, Erik made more space so she could have a seat without having to touch him.

‘Are you ready to depart?’

His wife responded with a nod. 

Knowing that if Meg was finished with any affairs she had to take care of then that would mean that Hélène would be finished with her errands as well, Erik told the driver to take them to the ship. He was fortunate enough that they had planned around the time of departure so they were still quite early in leaving for the docks.

* * *

All her life, Meg had always been interested in the idea of travelling the world. As a little girl, she dreamed of travelling with her future husband or with her parents. As a young dancer, she dreamed of touring the world, performing for them as she danced and poured her heart and soul out for all to see. After her Papa had died, Meg’s dreams of travels became one of sentiment. She would write down the places her Papa and her Mama had travelled to in their youths and as the years passed, she wished only to take her mother to those happy places in her heart. She longed to find such happy places for her someday.

But now that she was aboard a ship that was sailing to a new world, Meg could only look at the pier she had stepped from and felt a pang of longing already deep within her. Paris had been her home since she was little. She adored France and had not much to complain about in her life. The fact that she was about to leave it to help her husband to escape from the law was something that caused her to falter in her steadfastness. But as she looked at her mother and Monsieur Azadi - who had apparently procured his and Mama’s passports and documents - she reassured herself that her home was with them. Them and her husband. 

‘Marguerite, I suggest you keep close.’ Erik advised her.

Meg kept close to him and she felt his hand brushing her back to nudge her forward. Holding onto Erik’s arm, Meg tried to get past the sea of people until they arrived near Monsieur Azadi and her Mama. The Persian had apparently packed some breakfast foods and handed some fruit to her. He gave her an apologetic smile and explained how he was saving the bread for later.

Meg thanked him.

She quite liked Monsieur Azadi though she never knew his name before. He was a frequent visitor of the Populaire and had always watched the ballets and operas for the sake of it. All the dancers would flock to him and ask for stories from him and he always told them what he could. But Meg would sometimes approach him and ask more about his home than his travels, she found that he spoke so poetically of Persia though he had some pauses and moments where he did not sound so pleased about his home but throughout the moments he spoke of Persia, Monsieur Azadi always sounded so wistful. Sometimes, he would even tell Meg about the foods of his home and Meg had once tried to make it and she surprised him with it. According to him, it was not as spicy as it was at home. Meg only laughed and promised to put in more spices when she had the time.

Looking at the older man now, she appreciated everything he had done for her in the short span of time. He was a kind man and a very good friend to Erik even though her husband was not too kind to him.

‘Excited?’ The Persian asked, addressing both women.

Hélène pressed her lips together in response. Meg, however, smiled brightly.

‘I feel like I will miss home a great deal but there is also the thrill of going to new lands.’ She confessed, her voice tinged with a great deal of anticipation.

Monsieur Azadi chuckled and ruffled the ballerina’s golden hair.

‘I assure you, travelling to new worlds is an exciting experience. And as for missing home.’ A knowing and quiet smile graced his lips. ‘I assure you, missing home will be a normal thing for your heart but given time...you will find a home in other things.’

Meg nodded. She was positive of that possibility. She already had her Mama, that had been home enough for her ever since Papa had passed. Looking at Erik as he tried to blend into the shadows of the ship, Meg turned to look at Monsieur Azadi.

Perhaps she might find more homes with others as well.

* * *

The first day was quiet for Erik. Meg had excused herself from their cabin and had gone to her mother for a few hours and when she returned, she asked him what he was doing to which he answered vaguely. She did not speak until dinner was brought to their cabin.

‘Why do you eat so little?’ Meg asked, concern colouring her tone.

Erik raised a brow at his wife.

‘Does my portion bother you?’ 

He watched as his wife shifted awkwardly in her seat and though she looked like she was not going to speak about his eating habits again, Erik raised a brow when Meg put a bit more food on his plate.

‘I’m sorry.’ She mumbled, her cheeks blushing furiously. ‘I just..don’t want you to become ill from ignoring your own health.’

Unsure of what to say to one who expressed genuine concern over his wellbeing, Erik looked at his plate and cleared his throat, trying to find the appropriate words.

‘Thank you, Marguerite.’

He felt dainty fingers brush over his own and he looked at his wife in alarm. He found dark eyes glittering with warmth.

‘I think you can call me Meg, Erik.’ she said softly.

They then resumed their dinner in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we get Erik being surprised at Meg's consistent kindness and stuff and we get Meg who's hopeful for the future. I hope you guys enjoyed this fic and please don't hesitate to comment as it keeps me motivated to keep writing!


	6. Hills of Home

_ Name me no names for my disease,  
With uninforming breath;  
I tell you I am none of these.  
But homesick unto death- _

_ Homesick for hills that I had known,  
For brooks that I had crossed,  
Before I met this flesh and bone  
And followed and was lost... _

_ And though they break my heart at last,  
Yet name no name of ills,  
Say only, "Here is where he passed,  
Seeking again those hills." _

**-Witter Bynner**

* * *

For the first two days aboard the ship, Meg was fine.

She had nothing to complain about and she was able to spend her days either reading the books she’d packed with her, stretching - which she only did in Mama’s cabin - or just spending time with her Mama, Monsieur Azadi or Erik. Though her husband had developed a tendency to keep away from her after their first night together in the cabin.

Meg didn’t mind. She understood why, really.

But on the third day, when she awoke to the sight of her being alone once more, she felt an empty longing in her. She could not place the feeling but even as she looked outside, the sight of the golden sunlight changed nothing within her. 

She just felt melancholic.

Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, Meg went to seat herself at the settee furnished in her cabin and took out a journal. It was not hers but it had some of her scribblings in it as its owner had insisted she do when she felt she needed to speak to something that was not human. Running her fingers across the aged paper, Meg pressed her lips together as she tried to place the ache deep within her. The ache she woke to that seemed to ring with the echoes of her sense of displacement and loneliness.

Flipping through pages, Meg looked at the page she had landed upon and the familiar scratchings of a pen that always left blots and spots no matter how careful the author was, Meg took in a soft breath.

_ My little flower is growing each day. _

_ She has light steps like my Raven Queen and I sometimes wonder  
if she will have designs to be a dancer like her as well. _

_ Words cannot express how much I love her and Hélène. _

Tears blurred her sight but Meg quickly wiped them away. She had read each page of this journal ever since her Papa had passed but she never spoke of it to anyone. She would only write in it when she wished to tell her father something nowadays. Back when he still lived, Meg would borrow his journal and write down accomplishments and heartaches, she would speak of her friends, she would write of her dreams both in the waking and sleeping worlds, she would even write stories she came up with. But now? She felt it as some form of connection to her father that she would try to save as much of the papers as she can.

Going to a bag of hers, she rummaged through it and produced a pencil. With shaking hands, Meg wrote past the urge to scream out the anguish that was slowly consuming her and past the severe anxiety that had surprised her upon her every move.

_ I think I shall miss home something fierce, Papa.  
Teach me how to say goodbye. Please. _

Hearing familiar footsteps and the sound of her Mama’s cane tapping against the floor, Meg shut the journal and wiped away any tears that had maned to come out. Taking in a steadying breath, Meg opened the door to greet her mother a good morning.

* * *

Hélène knew that Erik had been avoiding her daughter ever since the first night by invading Hasan’s cabin and insisting he wanted to provide privacy to his wife. She had already noticed the Phantom’s aversion to being in Meg’s presence all of a sudden and she had expressed her displeasure at his treatment of her.

Erik only scoffed and informed her that they barely did anything together.

That was what worried Hélène. Meg was never an idle girl and when big changes occurred in her life, she often stuck to keeping herself busy rather than break down. She worried about Meg a great deal and she did not want to see Meg alone at such a big change in her life. As she arrived, the door to Meg’s cabin opened and Hélène caught her daughter’s appearance that morning.

Her heart ached at the lost expression on Meg’s face. It appeared that she had finally allowed the homesickness to come in. It was sooner than she had expected but Hélène was grateful it was sooner than the last time a great change took place in their lives. Without waiting for Meg’s permission, Hélène entered the cabin and carefully shut the door, pulling her daughter into her embrace afterwards. Humming quietly to her daughter, Hélène stroked Meg’s head and allowed Meg to cling onto her.

‘I shall miss home too, my sweet.’ Hélène murmured softly. ‘I shall be right here to miss home with you, my gold-flower.’ She promised. ‘You are not alone, Meg. I promise.’

‘I’m sorry, Mama.’ Meg whispered, her voice cracking. ‘I don’t like to be this way but I just-’ Hélène heard her daughter suck in a deep breath only for a whimper to leave her lips. ‘I just woke up feeling this way and I was alone, I don’t know what to do, what to expect in this new life. I know nothing about America beyond what you and Papa had told me but that was years ago.’

Shushing her daughter, Hélène led Meg to the settee and allowed Meg to rest her head on her lap. She could see the tremors that shook her daughter’s body as Meg tried to stifle her tears. Hélène could only run her fingers through Meg’s hair as she gave Meg the time to grieve the departure from their home. She had taken everything in stride too much, she was allowed this. Meg was no being of sunlight, she needed to have moments like these and Hélène had always coaxed these moments from her.

After all, who else would?

After Meg had finished crying, the mother and daughter remained in that position for a while before Hélène had decided they had been there too long. Shaking Meg gently, Hélène helped Meg sit up and she smiled.

‘Come, my love. Let’s get you some breakfast.’ She said gently.

Meg nodded, her lips pressing together. 

‘I will go get changed, Mama.’ 

* * *

‘Erik, it had been almost two days since you had begun avoiding your wife.’ Hasan commented, his tone exasperated. ‘You had been hiding in my cabin for longer than I’d like and I should like to have my privacy back.’

Erik shot him a warning glare as he returned to writing on the parchment he had found in a bag that Meg had labelled with his name. Hasan muttered an oath under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and prayed for patience. He cared for Erik a great deal, but this did not mean he will always want the Opera Ghost in his presence.

‘You had not eaten in over a day, you had not slept, you had not seen your wife and you barely talk to anyone.’ Hasan muttered.

Erik raised a brow at him.

‘You never complained about this back in Persia, Daroga.’ Erik drawled out. ‘I see no problem in my actions by far.’

Throwing his hands up, the Persian left Erik be in his cabin. He would like to meddle but he did not want to see Meg or Hélène in any peril in regards to Erik’s tempers. Some days he was acceptable company, right now, he was being a right tosser and would be a terrible companion.

Erik only continued writing his thoughts into the parchment. He had designs and plans in order to ensure their success in America. He refused to have to climb his way back out of any state of discomfort.

* * *

Meg had only eaten some fruit and some pastries but beyond that, she did not seek out more food. She understood why her mother was worried but she did not have any appetite whatsoever and she only ate enough to stave off further hunger. Feeling her mother’s hand on hers, she met her mother’s dark eyes and she smiled reassuringly.

‘I will be alright, Mama.’ She promised, bringing her mother’s hand to her lips. ‘I just feel lost and too many conflicting emotions right now.’

Hélène nodded and handed her a cup of coffee. Meg took it and looked at the warm beverage. 

She wondered if Erik had eaten yet. If he had even slept. But with him avoiding her, Meg knew better than to seek him out. She did not want to test how far he was willing to stretch his patience. She was under no illusion that there was anything special between them but she truly did care for him in that she wished him no ill will at all.

* * *

The day passed by bleakly for Meg.

She had excused herself from her mother and Monsieur Azadi’s presence and kept to her cabin with Erik. She had reread her father’s journal entries, she went through poems in the books she had packed, she tried to sleep on the settee. Everything she could do with her current emotion, she did them. Come evening, she chose to retire instead of going to eat. She could only pray that things will truly get better in the morning.

* * *

Erik had finished writing the rough plans he had by midnight. He was surprised to see Daroga had not yet returned. Perhaps he had decided to sleep in Madame Giry’s room with the way the two of them had been keeping to one another as of late. Regardless, Erik left to seek out more parchments from the bag his wife had packed for him. Ensuring the door was securely shut, Erik began making his way to his cabin with Meg. As he was getting close, he heard his mother-in-law’s voice speaking with who he assumed was Daroga.

‘-worries me, Hasan. I had not seen her like this in years.’

No doubt this was about Meg. She had a magnetic way with people that everyone would worry for her. Erik shook his head and made to leave them be when he heard Daroga’s response.

‘Did she not eat much during the grieving period?’

‘No, she was fine during and after the funeral. But when she was rearranging Aurelien’s study, she just...abruptly broke down. She does this too much, pushing down her grief and longing until she is alone and she allows it to sink in.’

Did Meg miss her meals? Erik shook his head. And to think she worried so much over his health when she would do the same thing. There was nothing to be done now, it was midnight and he highly doubted that the staff would be accommodating towards anyone feeling peckish at this time of night.

And yet, the mental image of Meg’s radiant face that was filled with compassion upon seeing him for the first time came to him and Erik sighed. The thought of her losing the bright joy within her was something that even he did not wish to see. Making a detour for the dining area of the ship, Erik caught a passing employee and stopped them. Upon inquiring if they were willing to cook a dinner to be brought to his cabin for his wife for a fee, the employee agreed to his request and left, gushing about the romantic gesture. Erik wrinkled his nose and went to his room with Meg.

The silence within it was overwhelming and Erik did not know whether it was because Meg was asleep or because of how the walls seemed to have adopted its inhabitant’s grief. Hesitantly, he approached the door to their small room and knocked,

He was distantly aware of sniffling and when the door was opened, he saw Meg still dressed in her daywear, her eyes red-rimmed. But she seemed to hold no resentment for his neglect.

‘Erik.’ She greeted, her voice surprised.

‘I was under the impression that you were asleep.’ Erik said, noticing that tears were still streaming down her face. Unsure if his comfort was welcome, Erik hesitantly brought a hand up to her face and wiped the tears away. ‘I had ordered food to be brought here.’

‘Oh...no, it’s quite alright.’ She protested weakly. ‘I haven’t the appetite today.’ 

Erik raised a brow at his wife. ‘Only a day or two prior you worried for my health when you saw my portions at our dinner, now you do not wish to eat?’

Meg’s gaze dropped to the floor. ‘I’m quite alright, Erik. I just feel awful today.’

Erik shook his head and gently steered her out of their small bedroom and to the settee. One kindness for another. ‘Shall we speak of this while we wait for our dinner?’ He did not wish to eat but to see the surprise on Meg’s expression seemed to indicate he had chosen the right choice.

Watching as his wife brought her knees up to her chest, Erik saw a lost girl more than the lady made of sunshine that had decided he needed a picnic, new clothes and a few moments of comfort. Placing a hand on her back, Erik tried to give her his comfort through his hesitant touches.

‘You miss Paris.’ He said simply.

Meg was quiet but the way her eyes shone with unshed tears was enough to tell Erik what he needed to know.

‘I miss everyone I’d met. To lose everyone, even to leave Papa behind there...I just realised everything I’m leaving behind.’ She whispered, her voice coming out rough and cracked as if she had been crying for some time now.

Erik felt guilt roil within him but he quashed it down. Instead, he allowed Meg to rest her weight against him while he held her close. He did not know what to say as the both of them had made the decision to marry one another but still, he felt he was at fault. When a knock was heard, Erik called out to the employee to place the food on the coffee table in front of the settee. Paying the fee he promised, Erik looked at Meg and decided she was not to serve herself unless she makes an act of hypocrisy and takes a smaller portion than he.

As he was plating their meals, Erik felt Meg’s lips brush over his cheek too lightly for him to feel.

‘Thank you.’

‘I had done nothing.’ Erik said, handing her the plate he decided was hers.

Meg shrugged. ‘You listened.’ Erik was certain her mother listened as well. He was nothing different from another listening ear. But as they ate in silence, Erik would occasionally give her some of his food to try and get her to eat more. This gesture was returned by Meg who smiled shyly which he found to be a different smile from her wide, open smiles.

That night, they laid with one another as they had before they wedded. Erik never knew why they did so but after the act, Erik found himself guilt-ridden once more at such an act. An act of betrayal to Christine but an act that was somewhat manipulative for one so emotionally distraught.

‘Wretch.’ He muttered to himself, his voice dripping with self-loathing and poison. Even with Meg’s arm draped over him, Erik found no comfort in this.

Yet even then, he made no moves to remove himself from his wife’s company.


	7. Credo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we now get Erik and Meg bonding time!

_Mix a little shake of laughter in the doings of the day,  
Scatter golden bits of sunshine as you plod along the way,  
Stop to cheer a fellow human that's a bit worse off than you—  
Help him climb the pesky ladder that you find so hard to do;  
Show by every daily motive, every thought and every deed—  
You are one that folks can turn to when they find themselves in need;  
Just forget the rugged places—make believe they're slick and smooth;  
_

_When you spot the troubled faces, pull a grin and try to soothe;  
Life's a game—a mighty short one—play it gamely while you can—  
Let the score book show the record that you measured up a MAN!  
Pretty pomes and marble towers won't avail you very much,  
When you've passed—unless you've helped to lighten heavy loads and such;  
Better far to have your neighbors say you were a cheerful chap,  
Always kind and always helpful—if you're that, you'll leave a gap;  
You may scatter filthy lucre to your merry heart's content,  
And forgotten be much sooner than some good-souled homeless gent;  
Chances are that in the making of your sordid pile of cash,  
In your handclasps you were faking, though you did show pep and dash;  
Never mind about the fortune you made up your mind to pile—  
But just live the GOLDEN RULE, lad, and your life will be worth while._

**-Credo, Roy Neal**

* * *

Erik was woken by gentle hands shaking him. For a moment he thought it was Christine’s and he leaned further into the touch. He could not recall Christine ever doing this to him.

‘Erik, wake up. I’ve got breakfast ready.’ He stiffened when he heard a different voice.

This was not Christine. Remembering his wife, he let out a small breath and looked at Meg carefully. Her hair had been done up, she had changed into fresh clothes and she looked far different from the state she was in the day prior. She was smiling at him gently and it made something in him ache at such a smile.

Pushing himself to sit up, Erik remembered his state of undress and quickly reached over and grabbed his shirt. 

‘Let me fetch you your clothes.’ Meg said, patting his leg before leaving him for a moment.

It took a few moments - no less than a minute or two - before Meg returned to their small room with his change of clothes. Excusing herself, she made to leave.

‘You know, you do not need to leave.’ Erik said at last, his voice quiet. ‘We  _ are _ married, Meg.’

Appearing to be surprised at Erik’s gesture, Meg smiled and patted his shoulder.

‘I just need to make sure our breakfast is not yet cold.’ She told him before leaving the Phantom alone.

* * *

Their breakfast was held in silence and Erik finished sooner than Meg. He was about to go back to polishing his plans when he noticed Meg eyeing him carefully.

‘Erik,’ she started, her tone hesitant. As if one fearing his reaction. 

‘Yes?’

‘I quite like it when you are not being indifferent to me.’ His wife admitted hesitantly. ‘Perhaps we could try and be friends with one another? Not the best of friends but just friends?’ 

Erik looked at Meg in surprise and he looked at her eyes, seeking a jest, a cruel joke, mockery, pity. Anything. But he only saw the depths of sincerity in her eyes the colour of dark pools of ink. Erik did not know much about the socially acceptable things to say to such propositions, but he found himself nodding to her request. If love cannot be borne from their union then may friendship blossom between them.

A tentative foundation was built and Erik did not know what to expect from such a foundation.

Erik did not go to the Daroga’s cabin that day.

* * *

Of all the things the Opera Ghost had expected his agreed-upon friendship with Meg to be, he did not expect for her to lead him to the deck during the afternoon when she heard news that not many people were outside. He was surprised she had the ability to drag him around as if he were nothing but a child’s toy.

‘I do not see why you would want me to see the sun when we are perfectly fine without having done so.’

Meg laughed and it was not at him but out of the sheer joy and thrill of it. Erik felt his lips twitch involuntarily. As they arrived at the deck, Erik stayed under the shade and watched as Meg went to the railings and leaned forward, he noted how the sunlight bounced off of her hair and for a moment he could say she was ethereal. Turning to face him, Meg beckoned for Erik to join her. Though he had no wish to be out for too long, Erik did so but went at a more sedate pace in comparison to his wife. Standing beside Meg, Erik looked out at the waters and looked at the awestruck expression on his wife’s face.

‘I know only the night prior, I told you how much I will miss home but the sight of this.’ Meg breathed out. ‘It’s absolutely magnificent.’

Erik understood what she meant and he silently agreed with her. Granted, the only things he will miss is Christine and perhaps his organ back in his lair but he found that the sea was a captivating sight.

They stayed like this, both bathed in Helios’ glory, silent and still for some minutes before they returned back to their cabin.

* * *

That evening, Erik took Meg out to the dining area, being careful to ensure the mask he wore gave the illusion that he had a whole face. He ate the portion Meg had insisted on giving him and he noticed how she clearly wished to talk to him but seemed to want to try to keep to their tradition of silent meals so far.

‘If you wish to speak to me of anything, feel free to do so.’ Erik prompted, focusing on his meal. It was likely she did not feel secure with him watching her.

He pretended to not have noticed the surprised look she gave him. Erik felt it only fair after all to give her back the kindnesses she so freely gave him. The friendliness she poured out far too liberally to someone as horrible as he. 

‘It’s nothing. I’m just…’ Meg smiled and gave a small shrug before returning her attention to her food. ‘Thank you for doing this, Erik.’ She said quietly.

Erik nodded. ‘You were kind to me before. I think it only fair to show you that kindness.’

‘Oh, Erik.’ He heard his wife sigh and Erik clenched his jaw. Was his attempt at returning friendship so awful? He felt her take his hand in hers and he looked up to snap at Meg but saw no malice. ‘I give you kindness because I can. I don’t expect it in return. I’m not a child, I know the world is not kind or caring to everyone.’ She said gently.

‘Then why be kind at all?’ Erik demanded. ‘Why show humanity that softness if you know they will only hurt you?’

Meg was silent and took a sip from her wine. She looked at him for a while before she gave him her explanation.

‘A man that my mother lovingly called Midas for his golden hair and beard once told me that when the world is uncaring, then let its people show it how kindness is.’ She told Erik, giving his hand a slight squeeze before pulling her hand away from him. ‘And ever since then, I try to live by his words. I try to give people that kindness because my father is not there to give it with me so I work twice as hard to honour that memory.’

Erik was silent as he listened to his wife speak of her father. He sounded like an absurdly kind man and though her eyes were clear of any rose-tinted memories and Erik now knew Meg was not one to lie, he also found it hard to believe that such kindnesses could be found in the world. He told Meg as such and his wife nodded, taking no offence to his words. The two returned to their meal in companionable silence and Erik found himself not half-loathing his wife’s presence in this moment.

* * *

When dinner was finished, Meg had already told Erik she would be sleeping and had told him to sleep soon. Erik agreed though he had no plans of doing so and left his wife in the privacy of their bedroom. Going to one of the few luggage he had personally packed and he took our his violin case. Taking the instrument out, Erik began tuning the instrument and tested out a few notes. He could recall the last time he’d played this and the shame of recalling that moment coursed through him. Granted, he had done it to get Christine back but to impersonate her father, it was a cruel trick he had had to play.

Pushing the guilt and self-loathing down within him, Erik brought the violin under his chin and began playing. He played through the tale of all that had happened and he found the tale too sad and bitter, wishing to try and uplift it at the end, he lightened it up a bit at the end and brought hope into its melody.

He went to bed soon after and was surprised when Meg wrapped an arm round his waist as she had done the night before. He did not push her away and allowed the contact.

* * *

After that day, Meg and Erik had developed a habit with one another where they would spend time with one another. Whether they conversed with one another or were silent, the two would be in each other’s company. Erik had played a few pieces for Meg but none were of import to him that it was quite impersonal, Meg began doing her morning stretches in their cabin rather than going to Hélène’s cabin and every afternoon they would go for a short while to look at the sea. Every evening Erik would either take Meg to the dining area or have dinner be brought to them and they would have inconsequential discussions. They learned to skate around subjects the other felt may be too personal, Meg never brought up Christine or the events at the Populaire, Erik did not speak of anything he felt Meg might miss.

It was a stability the two had found and they learned to offer each other gestures of kindness and care. Meg would remind Erik to eat and sleep and when Erik notices his wife was far too quiet and more muted in everything she does, Erik would sit beside her, offering her his company in hopes of comforting her. 

Everything was alright between them.

Until one dinner that Erik had taken Meg to.

He had been told that someone shall be singing to entertain the guests that evening and deciding that he wished to surprise his friend, he decided to tell Meg to dress up for dinner and Erik had informed Meg of the entertainment being provided. His wife grinned and elbowed him slightly, teasing him that he only wanted to eat at the dining area that evening to judge the singer. Erik protested at such a notion.

Everything was going smoothly until he heard the first strains of the song that was to be sung.

His fork clattered upon his plate and he met Meg’s concerned gaze.

‘Erik?’ Meg started, reaching out to check on him. 

Abruptly, he rose and left as he began hearing the singer start singing the aria that tore Christine away from him. The aria that brought the Vicomte to her dressing room and began distancing him and Christine from one another.

He did not look back.

Nor did he see Meg following his retreating form with worry in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter is gonna be on Meg comforting Erik but don’t worry things will start to take an upturn on Meg's end soon! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it and as always please don’t hesitate to comment, they always keep me motivated to keep on writing!


	8. Show Me Your Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone that supported this fic so far and I hope you guys enjoyed the previous chapter! This new chapter has Erik being a little bit uhhh no-no here but it gets better! Kinda. Though heads up that we get Meg getting hurt here!

_Show me_  
_the most damaged_  
_parts of your soul,_  
_and I will show you_  
_how it still shines like gold._

**-Show Me Your Soul, Nikita Gill**

* * *

Erik heard Meg knocking on the door to their room. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push past the heartache that consumed him. He was doing quite alright as long as he ignored the fact that he had given his love up for the sake of her being happy. Tears burned in his eyes but it did not fall and he felt a scream trying to claw itself out of his throat.

‘Erik, please open the door.’ Meg’s voice came through and Erik snarled out a reply.

He did not remember what he had said but it was not enough for her to leave him.

‘Erik, please? We need to speak about this. You can’t keep this inside you for long.’ 

‘Blast it, woman!’ Erik shouted, rising from their bed and yanking the door open. ‘What more do you want me to speak of! I gave up Christine, she is now with the Vicomte, likely to be wed in a few short moments and I am married to you, one who I hold no feelings for whatsoever!’ Grasping Meg by the arms, Erik looked at Meg and hissed. ‘What more would you want to speak of when you know I suffer deeply for all this?’

Meg was silent throughout his outburst. Her lips had been pressed together as he shouted and when he let her go with a shove, she stumbled back and fled. He did not feel guilt that moment and he snatched his notes and fled their cabin as well. Banging on Daroga’s cabin, Erik stormed inside the moment the Persian opened the door and all but shoved the Daroga outside, snapping at the Persian to seek refuge in the Girys’ cabins so he could work in peace.

* * *

Hélène awoke to a series of knocks that was in a rhythm she knew all too well. Checking the clock, she frowned. Should Meg not still be at dinner with Erik? Erik himself told her that they may be out the whole night as he was told the night would be clear enough to see stars and he figured Meg may enjoy the sight.

Going to the door, Hélène opened the door and saw Meg shaking with tears streaming down her face.

‘Meg?’ She was only able to get her daughter’s name out when her daughter threw her arms around Hélène and let out the quiet sobs she knew Meg to make when something hurt or frightened her enough to try and avoid being heard.

She knew who would cause this. Who else had a Herculean temper among their party?

‘Come here, flower. Let Mama help you.’ Hélène murmured softly as she guided Meg to her room in the cabin.

Her daughter was not speaking and she was still crying when Hélène had sat her down on her bed. When she heard quiet knocks she knew well enough was Hasan, the ballet instructor went and opened the door, her dark eyes bearing a fire in it full of threats.

‘Hasan, I will kill that wretch.’ She ground out, her voice spitting venom. ‘See if I don’t.’

The Persian held up his hands and sighed. ‘I would let you kill him, Hélène but I am quite fond of Erik and I am quite certain Meg is as well.’

Hélène shot a glare at him and proceeded to return to her bedroom. Meg had stopped crying and had fallen asleep, her tears having dried on her face. Hélène pressed her lips together and tried to stop her anger from rising. Reaching out, she ran her fingers through Meg’s hair, carefully untangling the curls from one another. She never enjoyed the sight of Meg crying because someone caused those tears and if she can keep her daughter safe from such heartaches, she would.

Standing, she left her daughter to speak with Hasan for a few moments. She found out about Hasan being kicked out of his own cabin and the foul mood Erik was in when he had done that. She did not speak for Erik and permitted no excuses to be made on his behalf. After setting up a makeshift bed for him, Hélène bade him sleep and returned to Meg’s bedside, pulling her daughter close to her.

* * *

Erik had kept writing all his plans and polishing them further throughout the night. He burned through the oil in the lamp of Daroga’s room and had dug through the Daroga’s bags to look for some more parchment which he proceeded to write more on. He did not notice the time passing, nor did he have any desire to go see if daylight had come upon them. He saw no purpose behind such things and the mere reminder of everything he had given up the night prior was something that left a bitter taste in the Phantom’s mouth.

A knock resounded against the door.

Erik growled and remained seated, calling for whoever was at the door to leave him be and that their services was not required.

The knock came again and Erik chose to ignore it.

He managed to keep writing for some minutes before the knock came once more, this time more insistent.

Uttering an oath, Erik rose from his seat causing the chair to fall to the ground and he went to the door and yanked the door open, ready to berate whoever it was that had disturbed his writing.

There was no one there and he only heard the fading footsteps that sounded like one who was running off.

When Erik made to close the door, he made the mistake of looking down and when he did, his eyes fell upon a tray full of breakfast pastries and coffee. There was a silk rose that he recognised in golden curls and underneath it was a note torn from what Erik assumed was a journal.

Guilt attempted to rise within him but he quashed it down. Picking up the tray, Erik set it down on the Daroga’s bed and took the coffee and the note. Setting the note aside for when he deemed himself finished with his writing, Erik drank the beverage and continued his task. As he continued to write, he blocked himself from hearing the world outside of the room and continued making plans, sketches, blueprints, even planning out any moment he may need to begin composing any sort of music to gain notoriety and so he could earn money.

He grew aware of a commotion happening outside and Erik chose to ignore it.

He worked until the commotion died down and his breakfast turned cold.

A rapid knocking was heard followed by banging and the sound of Hélène Giry’s furious voice. Muttering in irritation, Erik rose from his seat and looked at his notes. These will do for now. Stuffing the parchments and Meg’s note into his inner pockets, Erik opened the door and found himself being dragged by his mother-in-law. To his surprise, Daroga was there as well but he noticed how a part of his shirt sleeve had blood on it.

‘What happened?’ He asked, his tone sharp.

‘Meg stopped a robber.’ Hélène ground out. ‘She caught him looking through both your bags. Rest assured, nothing was stolen.’

‘And the blood?’ Erik demanded.

‘Meg got her hand run through with a knife when the robber tried to run her through.’ Hasan explained.

Erik felt the note he had ignored for most of the day burning into his pocket and he quickened his steps further. Reaching his cabin with Meg, he noticed how the door was wide open and he hurried inside. Catching sight of his wife being tended to by a nurse who was listening to her speaking. Erik saw how shaken she appeared and he breathed in sharply.

‘Where is the culprit?’ He asked, his tone dark.

‘Erik.’ Hasan said warningly. ‘He is already in custody. You are not to do  _ anything _ to him.’

Glaring at the Daroga, Erik turned his attention to Meg and went to her, trying to assess the injury.

Meg, having noticed Erik’s presence earlier, gave him her attention and she smiled at him best she could though he noticed how her lips trembled still due to the shock of it all.

‘It’s quite alright, the nurse told me I will heal given time.’ She said before turning to face the nurse.

The nurse who had hair of flaming red, looked at her gently and sighed. ‘If you are well cared for, you could heal sooner. Just hope your mother and friend will make sure to help you in everything.’

Erik frowned and cleared his throat. ‘I will try to help my wife to the best of my abilities.’ 

The nurse looked at him and nodded. Patting Meg on the head, she excused herself from everyone and left.

Looking at Meg, Erik held out his hand which Meg placed hers in willingly. Inspecting the bandages, he knew that this was a good job but he still felt concern rising through him for the ballerina. 

‘Erik, we need to-’

‘I apologise for being a brute to you.’ Erik interrupted her, his gaze more focused on her injured hand than trying to look at his wife.

‘I forgive you.’ Was Meg’s reply, her tone gentle. ‘All I would ask is you learn to be better from this.’

Erik looked at Meg, his eyes wide with surprise at how she had so readily forgiven him. Granted, she did not excuse his actions but he was still somehow forgiven. Meg met his gaze and she pulled her hand away from him, a small smile on her lips though he still could see the hurt he had inflicted upon her. The guilt that had begun clawing its way up from the depths of his soul rose up as steam would rise from water. Not now. The Phantom told himself. For now, he just needed to ensure that Meg would be alright and perhaps if he was no coward, he could tell her he was remorseful over his treatment of her. 

_Perhaps._

* * *

That evening, Erik insisted on sleeping on the settee and had called for dinner to be brought to their cabin. They ate in silence once more and when Meg had finished eating and excused herself to prepare for bed, Erik took out the note she had written him and finally read through what his wife had written.

_I understand that you’re hurting and there is never any excuse_  
_to have treated me so cruelly._  
_But I just want you to know that it gets better._  
_Not tomorrow, not this very hour, not even maybe next week._  
_But eventually._

_ Meg. _

That evening, Erik played his violin once more. Earlier than usual that he made sure Meg was still awake to hear him play but late enough that he knew full well that their neighbours would be deep in sleep by then. When he finished, Erik resolved to himself that he needed to have words with his wife. Proper words and not just empty conversations meant to patch up the ache deep within him.

But those words were to be had on the morn when a new day had come and offered better light for even his wretched deeds to be forgiven so freely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! This was pretty fun to write but lord, Erik was a bit of a pillock to write haha. Nonetheless, I hope you guys liked. This chapter and as always, I appreciate all the comments I receive as it keeps me motivated to keep on writing!


	9. "Hope" is the thing with feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter 9 where they talk and they could maybe start hoping for good things to come!

_“Hope” is the thing with feathers -_   
_That perches in the soul -_   
_And sings the tune without the words -_   
_And never stops - at all -_

_And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -_   
_And sore must be the storm -_   
_That could abash the little Bird_   
_That kept so many warm -_

_I’ve heard it in the chillest land -_   
_And on the strangest Sea -_   
_Yet - never - in Extremity,_   
_It asked a crumb - of me._

**-Emily Dickinson**

* * *

Meg had dreamt of the masquerade that night. But instead of her purple suit, she wore the gown she had crafted and instead of dancing with anyone who asked, she was waltzing with the Red Death himself. It was a wordless dream but the dance was vivid enough that when Meg was woken by someone shaking them gently, Meg still woke with the mists of that dream still fogging her mind. When she looked at the one who woke her, she was surprised to see it was Erik.

‘I had ordered breakfast to be brought here for us.’ Her husband said, turning away from her. ‘I believe we must have a discussion.’ 

Frowning, Meg got up and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Following Erik out of their room, she saw that he had had their breakfast set down on the coffee table before the settee. Certain that no one shall be coming in to intrude on them, Meg went to the settee and sat a fair distance from Erik who had been watching her every move carefully. When she had seated, Erik offered her a cup of coffee and she noticed the silk rose tied to it. She looked at her husband and Erik was looking down, trying to avoid her gaze.

‘Daroga came early this morning with the rose you had left with you when you took breakfast to me.’ Her husband said, his hands tightening its hold on his lap. 

Meg nodded and thanked Erik for returning the rose that had been put into her hair by her mother. She had left it to put a weight on top of the note as she did not want the coffee to be spilt on the paper. Being careful not to lift the cup with her injured hand, Meg drank from the cup and kept silent.

‘Your hand, how is it?’ Erik asked, holding out a hand to Meg.

It still hurt but it was not as bad as before. The stitching was the worst she’d had to endure but luckily she was still running on adrenaline that time that she barely felt a thing until after she had retired to sleep. 

‘It’s quite alright now.’ She lied instead, flexing her fingers slightly.

Erik looked at her with a small frown before gently taking her injured hand in his and looking at the wrappings, trying to glean the truth from it.

‘Tell me if you feel any discomfort.’ 

Meg nodded and picked up a croissant. She was waiting for Erik to say something. She meant every word when she told him she had forgiven him but beyond that, she did not know what else to tell him. What do you tell a man who you had come to care for but had done horrible things to try and keep the woman he loves who just so happened to be your best friend?

‘I would like to apologise.’

‘Erik.’ Meg interrupted her husband, setting her breakfast down once more and sidling closer to him. ‘I’ve already told you that you are forgiven.’ She assured him, reaching over and placing a hand on his hand.

Erik was silent and he looked at Meg as if trying to think of something. ‘I will do all I can never to treat you the way I had. I had met your kindness with anger and-’

‘And only Christine had shown you that kindness?’ Meg finished, her tone gentle.

Erik was silent and she nodded.

She did not know yet what it was like to have found someone to cause such a violent reaction to one’s heart such as Christine had on Erik. She used to hope to find such a person someday but seeing as she was wedded now, she decided to find contentment instead. She knew Erik was likely to not be the sort to strive for contentment seeing as he had experienced what love felt like. She knew that it was like the sweetest of honey and the most addicting of elixirs to have experienced such a thing but she also knew it was a double-edged sword in that if it was not returned, then it could break a man completely. 

‘I can’t tell you to let go of Christine.’ Meg said at last. ‘Because I know you cared about her a great deal. But clinging onto her while she just wants to be happy, it doesn’t feel right.’

She saw Erik clench his jaw, trying to refrain from speaking to her of anything too harsh. Meg pulled her hand back and she saw Erik clench and unclench his hand into a fist. She looked at her hands, folded on top of each other.

‘Aren’t you tired of that ache in your chest, Erik?’ She asked quietly.

Erik snapped his head in her direction, golden eyes boring into her, seeking her very soul out. 

‘What do you know of heartaches, Marguerite?’ He asked, his tone just as quiet but there was an underlying tempest in his voice of calm seas.

‘I have years of experience, Erik.’ Meg replied. ‘Years of repressed pain and silence and prayers and denial.’ At that, she rested a hand upon her heart, as if seeking out the brokenness she felt those many years ago.

‘That is not the same thing.’ Erik argued.

‘Is it not?’ Meg returned. ‘It is still love. And you are doing as I had done, thinking that if you escape the ache then all will be alright.’ 

Erik was silent and he looked away.

‘Christine was the first being to care for me.’ He whispered. ‘When no one, not even my mother had.’

Erik felt his face being touched by a smooth hand and he was gently guided to look at his wife. He shrank away when he saw the concern in her eyes and how it seemed to shine with a knowledge that pierced through his very soul.

‘I know I’m a poor substitute.’ Meg said. ‘But know you are no longer alone to deal with this.’ Taking his hand into hers once more, Meg pressed her soft lips against his knuckles. 

Erik looked at his wife, gold crowning her head with the sun providing upon her a halo that was bestowed upon saints. Perhaps she was a saint for enduring him and being patient with him.

‘How did you move past the pain?’ Erik asked, fear gripping his heart and throat.

Meg was silent and she looked at the window as if the answer would be found there. 

‘Time and love. Whether it is the love of a friend, a parent or something else, it helps to be cared for. Reminded you are not alone in the world.’

Erik was about to remind Meg that he had no one in the world when he caught sight of her gaze. One that promised that he was no longer alone in this world. Meg let go of his hand and she returned to eating her food, the pastry now having become cold. Unsure what to tell her, Erik imitated her and took his own breakfast, looking at his wife occasionally, unsure what to make of her.

Later that afternoon, Erik invited Meg to come with him so they could look at the sea together. As he looked at her with her fair hair and dark eyes, he felt a stirring of an emotion he otherwise was unable to feel beyond what he felt with Christine. He knew it was called Hope but he dared not call it by its name for fear that it may leave him the moment he recognised its presence. Tightening his hold on Meg’s uninjured hand, he met her gaze and returned the blinding smile thrown his way with an unsure smile of his own.

‘Even the night must welcome the sunrise, Erik.’ Meg told him, turning her gaze upon the sea once more.

Erik could only pray that she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we get some pretty nice lowkey fluffy chapters coming in shortly so I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I did with writing this!! As always, please don’t hesitate to comment as it keeps me motivated to continue writing I appreciate all the support given to my story, thanks so much!!


	10. The Night Dance

_Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high,  
And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean,  
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye,  
Obey the mute call, and heave into motion.  
Then, sound notes -- the gayest, the lightest,  
That ever took wing, when heaven look'd brightest  
Again! Again!  
Oh! could such heart-stirring music be heard  
In that City of Statues described by romancers,  
So wakening its spell, even stone would be stirr'd,  
And statues themselves all start into dancers!  
  
Why then delay, with such sounds in our ears,  
And the flower of Beauty's own garden before us --  
While stars overhead leave the song of their spheres,  
And, listening to ours, hang wondering o'er us?  
Again, that strain! -- to hear it thus sounding  
Might set even Death's cold pulses bounding --  
Again! Again!  
Oh, what delight when the youthful and gay  
Each with eye like a sunbeam and foot like a feather,  
Thus dance, like the Hours to the music of May,  
And mingle sweet song and sunshine together._

**-The Night Dance, Thomas Moore**

* * *

‘How long had it been since you last danced, Meg?’ Erik asked as he carefully redressed Meg’s injured hand. 

The stitching done on it was expertly done, but seeing the injury and the depth was something Erik found to be a distressing sight. It was so foreign and had no place to mar such people like Meg. Seeing the injury disappear under the white bandages, Erik pinned the bandage to keep it in the same position.

Looking at Meg, he saw that she looked surprised at his question. Guilt threatened him once more and once more, he quashed it down. He was making an attempt now. It had to count for something, surely. Granted, he barely paid any other performers his attention in the opera but he was well aware that Meg was on the way to becoming a prima ballerina if she had continued her dancing career.

‘It’s not been long.’ Meg said at last. ‘I think Il Muto was my last dance, though.’ She added quietly.

Erik grimaced. He had paid more attention to the music of Don Juan and he did not see ballet as anything too noteworthy for him that he did not put in any such moments requiring the dance to be of any use. 

‘Do you miss it?’ He asked, his tone careful.

Meg was silent and Erik knew full well what her answer will be.

‘Everyone will miss their souls if left neglected enough.’ Came his wife’s response.

Erik nodded. ‘Perhaps you would like to dance later tonight?’ He asked, his head tilted slightly. ‘I would gladly play for you.’ 

Erik was surprised with his wife tightly embracing him in thanks and he knew that he did not need any sort of verbal affirmation from such a gesture. And still, Erik did not return it, unsure as he was if his reciprocation would have led to Meg pulling away.

‘What time?’ Meg asked when she had pulled away from him. 

‘I was thinking sometime around two in the early morn.’

Meg shook her head and smiled, her joy still shining in spite of the time he had suggested.

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ She remarked. ‘I’ll just have to sleep for a short while before that and then you could wake me if you are still awake at that time.’

Though Erik knew nothing of ballet, he went through some pieces he had memorised. The sight of Meg looking as excited as she had like the first day of their sailing was a sight he found himself resolving to keep. He was not fond of her, not in the way he knew her to be fond of her friends and family, but he did not appreciate seeing that smile fade.

* * *

That evening, as if to make up for the dinner he had run from, Erik had taken Meg out and took her to the most secluded part. There, he allowed Meg to ask what questions she wished under hushed voices. Erik revealed what he can of himself but refrained from showing too much of his past. Whenever he avoided a question, it seemed as if she understood and moved on to a different topic easily. Erik had ordered dessert for both of them while they chatted. Erik even revealed that he was a ventriloquist, something that delighted Meg and she even asked if he could change his voice which he confirmed as well. When their dessert came, Erik nudged his plate to Meg as well and he took advantage of the time they had to ask more about her in a more personal manner. He learned that her favourite colour was blue, Meg also revealed that while she knew of fairytales that everyone knew, she did not grow up knowing them. Her father would make up stories just for her and act out the story with her mother when she was small. He learned that she fell out of a tree when she took a dare from her boy cousin in the countryside. 

‘He laughed at me afterwards, you know.’ Meg commented with a small laugh. ‘Said I had it coming for thinking I could climb higher than him.’

‘And did you?’ Erik asked, raising a brow.

Meg smiled and ate the chocolate cake they had been given. He saw mischief glittering in her eyes and he chuckled.

‘Papa said my cousin may not have broken an arm but technically, I did win.’ She said with a hint of smugness in her tone.

Erik shook his head at Meg. It was a wonder how one could maintain such positivity in their lives that they would see the bright side to a broken arm. Somehow, the brightness of life seemed to come from Meg Giry’s father.

‘I believe Hélène was displeased by that break.’ He commented, leaning back slightly when Meg held out a forkful of chocolate cake to him.

‘Just eat the cake, Erik.’ Meg said, her tone coaxing. ‘And yes, well, it’s quite hard to see the bright side if your daughter broke an arm.’

Erik huffed. ‘Well, I’m afraid I know nothing about such sentiments but I do think anyone in their right minds would be distressed over this.’ 

Meg giggled and looked at him. ‘That’s true though, being distressed is an understandable reaction.’ Still holding out the fork to him, Meg raised her brows at him expectantly.

Erik sighed and took the fork offered to him, eating the cake. It wasn’t that he did not want to eat or such things like that, he just ordered two plates of cake to give to Meg as a way to apologise further. Though it became clear to him that Meg was the sort to keep on trying to share her food with him which Erik found to be an amusing trait of her.

When their dinner together ended, Erik walked slower to point out the various stars in the sky. Meg held onto his arm tighter when she looked up, as if awestruck by such a common sight.

* * *

Later that night, Erik waited til the clock struck two in the morning. Meg had retired after she read a book she had taken out from her bag and Erik had promised that he shall wake her when it was their agreed upon time. When he heard the chimes of the clock telling him of the time they were waiting for, Erik rose from the settee and went to his room with Meg.

He had not looked at his wife properly in her sleep until that night. She looked to be at peace and her hair had been spread out on her pillow, the moonlight seeming to lend a gleam to her golden head. He was loathe to wake her. Reaching out, he shook Meg who woke up and looked at Erik with a small, sleep-hazed smile.

‘It’s two already?’ Erik nodded and pulled her up. 

‘Get changed.’ He whispered as he went out of the room and took his violin. 

When he turned to check back in on Meg, he was surprised to only see her putting on her dance shoes. He raised a brow at Meg who met his gaze with a small smile.

‘I don’t see the point of changing right now when all we’ll be doing is dancing.’ She explained as she got up and took Erik’s free hand in her uninjured one. 

Together, the two made for the deck.

* * *

Erik had to wait for some minutes before Meg finished stretching, her hair having been tied back to keep it away from her face. When she signalled him that she was ready, Erik put the instrument under his chin and began playing the first strains of the melody he chose. He did not know how well Meg could make up steps but he supposed he shall see.

And see he did.

Meg had moved to the music he had played even though he knew it was not made for ballet but there she was, turning it into such a thing. She danced like a dryad dancing in the heart of a forest, a sylph gracing the eyes of men with a form that allowed them to perceive the gracefulness of the winds. Watching her as he played, Erik stepped closer to her and as if taking that as her cue, Meg took to dancing around Erik which he responded to by following her almost as if he were Orpheus reversed, seeking out Eurydice in the darkness of the underworld. As he moved with her, Erik caught Meg’s gaze and she smiled brightly at him.

Erik knew her eyes glittered before.

But he never thought to see those gleaming eyes like the starlight breaking through the night sky.

As they moved with one another, one dancing in full and one giving the impression of dancing, Erik returned the smile Meg had given him. Christine was blessed by Heaven for her voice, Erik knew that for certain, but Marguerite Giry very well could have been blessed by Terpsichore herself in that very moment. As the last notes were reached, Erik realised that he and Meg were standing so close to one another, their eyes meeting, lips close to one another, Meg balanced on one foot, the other extended outwards. As if realising their closeness, Meg stepped away from him, her cheeks flushed. Offering him a shy smile, Meg held out her hand to him once more.

‘Thank you, Erik.’ She said softly. ‘That was…it was amazing.’ 

Erik bowed slightly before taking Meg’s hand. 

Together, the two walked back to their cabin and when Meg embraced him in her sleep, their bodies bare and exhausted from more than just dancing, Erik pulled her closer to him. 

Perhaps he can grow to tolerate this life now that he had become friends with the one wedded to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it looks like Erik is starting to open up a bit to Meg and hey we got some nice moments for them here! At least he’s becoming more fond of his new friend bit by bit! 😉 I hope you guys enjoyed this! Please don’t hesitate to comment as it keeps me motivated to write knowing this was enjoyed! Thanks for continuing to support this!!


	11. Love and Friendship

_Love is like the wild rose-briar,_   
_Friendship like the holly-tree—_   
_The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms_   
_But which will bloom most constantly?_

_The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,_   
_Its summer blossoms scent the air;_   
_Yet wait till winter comes again_   
_And who will call the wild-briar fair?_

_Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now_   
_And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,_   
_That when December blights thy brow_   
_He still may leave thy garland green._

**-Love and Friendship, Emily Bronté**

* * *

Ever since that night, as the ship draws closer to America, so too did Erik’s relationship with Meg. They still did not speak of the deepest depths of their hearts but still, they understood one another well enough that they would not force the other to speak. Though Erik took to ensuring Meg was alright in every way he could think of, Meg had done so twofold. She insisted he slept at a reasonable hour rather than staying til the break of dawn still writing his plans, she brought him meals if he was absorbed in writing, she would sometimes even work out any stiffness he develops from staying in one position for too long. Erik only manages to get Meg to let him redress her bandages, take her to dinner and on occasional nights, play music for her to dance to. They were close enough to America that they were informed that if the weather stays in their favour they would be there within a week or so. He could see the relief on Meg’s face when she heard the news from the Daroga.

While he was grateful enough for their nearing destination, Erik knew then that he only had a few more days left of polishing what needed to be polished. This, he took to doing at any moment he could do any paperwork. He would mutter the plans to himself, see if any sounds like it would make sense or if it comes across as absolutely mad. Such an occasion was when Erik was writing his notes while Meg was resting her head against his bare chest, her own naked body pressed flush against his skin. They had lost the shyness with contact after their routine of spending time together. Erik sighed and rubbed his face, trying to think of a different location to place what he had in mind.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Meg asked, drawing him out of his jumbled thoughts.

Sighing, Erik pulled his friend close and looked at his parchments.

‘Just some frustrations.’ He answered as he gave a sheet for Meg to peruse.

He did not keep it secret from Meg that he was making plans for America, but Meg had always kept her curiosity in check and allowed him to write whatever he wished. Though he did assure her she had a part to play in his plans, Meg still told him there was no need to tell her unless it was necessary. 

She told him in not so many words that she trusted him.

Watching as Meg tried to read what he had written, Meg hummed in thought before returning the paper to him.

‘What’s your troubles with it?’ She asked. ‘I mean, the business venture of a place of amusement is good, it would bring in crowds and the performances I’ve seen noted down would entertain those disinterested in rides and games.’ Giving him a reassuring smile, Meg patted his arm. ‘I see no problems with this whatsoever.’

Erik shook his head. Though he appreciated his wife’s support, he cannot wholly say that she seemed to understand his current problem. But still, he might as well refrain from keeping the information from her so that he could hopefully get some suggestions that might help.

‘I am still torn where we can start with this project.’ He admitted, grimacing.

Meg was silent as she seemed to think over his problem.

‘Why not go for something by the sea?’ She suggested. ‘Everything you’ve written down there is perfect for that. The problem is, we will need to find a particular seaside for this to be put in.’

‘ _We_?’ Erik echoed, a brow rising in surprise.

Meg nodded. ‘Heart to heart and hand to hand, Erik.’ She said with a small smile. ‘I know you don’t love me but I will follow that vow. I’ll be happy to help you where I can.’

Surprised at Meg’s words, Erik could only gape at her, his own words dying at the tip of his tongue. He only vaguely remembered his own vows but he remembered hers because of how she had asked for her own vows to be said. He did not expect her to honour those vows though he knew he should have now that he’d gotten to know Meg well enough. Pulling her closer to him, Erik blew out a breath, still unable to believe that such a friend would exist in her. One that had accepted him and supported him without any judgement marring her dark eyes in any way.

‘You are a wonder all on your own, Marguerite Giry.’ Erik said at last, pulling her close to him.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Erik watched from afar as Meg interacted with other people, her cheeks rose-tinted as she spoke with a couple, gesturing to her mother then at the Daroga. He avoided social interaction as much as possible in case anyone recognised him, but fortunately he had avoided such recognition thus far.

‘A charming lady, don’t you think so?’ A British man with a rough accent grunted out.

Erik hummed thoughtfully. ‘Charming indeed.’ He echoed as he met Meg’s gaze and he bowed his head.

‘Shame she said she’s married, else I’d’ve ‘ad a good time with ‘er.’ The man continued with a chuckle. ‘Could’ve shown ‘er how a proper bloke should treat ‘er rather’n a nonce like ‘er ‘usband.’

Erik stilled and looked sharply at the British man, his hands clenching into a fist. To hear his friend being spoken of in such a way brought up a disgust in him he commonly felt for himself. The fellow was likely a rich businessman if his clothes were anything to go by likely one to pretend he was highborn from the start as well. 

‘I am _that_ nonce, I’m afraid.’ Erik replied tersely. 

‘Oh?’ There was an unnerving glint in that man’s eyes and Erik began moving away. ‘You don’t suppose I could ‘ave ‘er for the right price?’

Gritting his teeth, Erik took in a sharp breath and marched towards Meg who seemed to be regaling the couple of a performance she had done. He had heard of this tale already, she had almost tripped and had improvised a step instead to make it seem like it was on purpose. No one noticed the misstep save her mother. He had told her upon hearing the tale how sorry he was not to have been paying attention. Resting a hand on her lower back, Erik smiled politely at the couple who nodded at him. When she had finished speaking with the couple, Erik began steering her off back to their cabin, his gaze falling on the weasel of a man who was peering at Meg like he was already undressing her with his gaze. Though he knew it will do nothing, Erik took off his cloak and covered her with it.

Casting a confused smile at Erik, Meg tilted her head at him as they walked hand in hand.

‘Are you alright, Erik?’ She asked, her voice quiet and gentle.

Erik pressed his lips together, keeping his attention to their soundings in case the man decides to stalk them. The moment they arrived in their cabin, Erik locked the door and looked at Meg carefully. His cloak had all but swallowed her lithe form underneath it’s black, silk fabric and Meg looked smaller in size due to it but at least no one else seemed to have paid any attention to her.

‘Erik, you seem frazzled.’ Meg said, reaching out to rest her hand on his cheek.

Sighing, Erik reached up and pulled Meg’s hand away from him. ‘A man was offering to pay me if I allowed him to spend a night with you.’ He muttered, poison dripping from his voice. ‘He was fortunate I had not brought my lasso with me else he might have died from hanging tonight.’

‘Erik!’ Meg scolded, her eyes seemed to shine with fear when she said his name. ‘That is no joking matter!’

‘Good. As I am not jesting when I said it.’ Erik snapped back. ‘I will not have one of my only friends be treated like bartered goods if I have any say in the matter.’

There was silence as the weight of Erik’s words dawned on him. He looked at Meg’s eyes for he knew her soul lived within there and he feared seeing pity in those dark eyes of ink. But all he saw was a pleased surprise. Then a smile graced her lips.

‘We’re friends then?’ Meg asked, her happiness bleeding into every note of her voice.

Crossing his arms, Erik raised a brow at his wife. ‘I should like to think our continued dancing and afternoon excursions should tell you that.’ He said simply.

‘I thought that was an apology.’ Meg admitted with confusion.

‘The first time was an apology. The following was not.’ Erik elaborated. Hesitantly, he added, ‘I truly do enjoy your company, Meg. And I would not have the world treat you unfairly if I can help it.’

And Erik, to his surprise, was once more embraced by Meg.

That was the first moment he returned the gesture, wanting to express to her how much her friendship had meant to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do believe someone is catching feelings. But at the same time, who knows? I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I know I did and please don’t hesitate to comment as it keeps me motivated! Thanks so much for your continued support!


	12. What Does Love Feel Like?

_One day you will meet someone_  
_who will see the universe_  
_that was knitted into your bones,_  
_and the embers of galaxies glow to life in your eyes._  
_And you will finally know_  
_what love is supposed to feel like._

**-What Does Love Feel Like?, Nikita Gill**

* * *

‘You know, I truly do appreciate all you’re doing for me.’ Meg told Erik as she tied her pointe shoes once more, making sure that the ribbons were secure.

Erik looked at her curiously as he absentmindedly tapped out a tune on his leg as if he were playing the piano.

‘Why on earth would you be grateful for the bare minimum?’ He asked, nose wrinkling in confusion.

Meg looked at Erik carefully. She could see that he truly did not appear to understand why she would be so grateful for the little things he had done for her and had continued to do so. If there was one thing she had been raised to believe in, it was the belief that it was the little things that are worth remembering. The small gestures of love done every day mattered so much more than just the grand gestures of love put on display for the world to witness and applaud. She and Christine had done these small gestures, whether it was Christine fixing Meg’s hair for her or Meg repairing a broken shoe. Meg had done these to tell her friends that she loved them and it became her way of seeing love in such a light. Romantic, familial or otherwise.

And this philosophy, she explained to Erik who looked dumbfounded at her explanation. But instead of telling her that she would hardly count as a romantic - as her fellow dancers would tell her - Erik only smiled and shook his head.

‘You, Meg Giry, appreciate too much of the lesser things in life.’ Erik said at last.

Feeling her face flush, Meg stood and made for the door. ‘I’m sorry about that.’ She mumbled.

‘Don’t.’ Erik responded gently. When Meg turned to face Erik, she saw no judgement in his eyes, no mocking in his lips. Just a small smile directed at her. ‘Never apologise to me for appreciating these things. I do not fathom it, but that is what makes you who you are, Meg.’

Offering her his arm, Erik led Meg off to the deck to dance under starlight to the music of phantoms and faeries.

* * *

Meg was the last one to wake between them the next morning. When she awoke, Erik was entering their room with a plate of croissants, berries and honey along with a cup of coffee. When Erik noticed Meg, he grinned and raised his brows at her.

‘This is the first time I had decided to beat you in your game, Marguerite.’ He said teasingly. ‘You slept long enough that I was able to get some breakfast for you.’

Sitting up, Meg smiled at Erik and accepted the food he brought. As she began eating, Erik sat on the bed and took out a blank sheet of parchment. Meg looked at her husband fondly as he began writing. She was surprised to see that it looked like the beginnings of a composition. Biting her bottom lip, Meg turned her gaze away from his task, wanting to offer him some privacy in their room. Though she had turned away from him to focus on her meal, she still could hear his humming and she found it to be a promising composition if what he was humming was what was being composed.

Was this what Christine had heard during her lessons?

Perhaps a darker version of these humming notes. A version that was cloaked in anger and anguish wrought from whatever brings such grief in his eyes whenever their conversations came too close to his past.

This at least explained how Christine had praised her teacher so much whenever Meg asked about him during their rehearsals. 

But now? Whatever he was humming had a mixed melody flowing both with melancholy and hopefulness, there was a hint of a lightness in his song now and she liked its presence there. It still had his elements of mystery but it was not the dark sort but one fraught with something she didn’t know she could place properly. Finishing her breakfast, Meg pushed her blanket back and got off the bed to get changed, leaving Erik to his writing as he scribbled down notes that seemed to come out of his mind without much prompting.

* * *

‘What is it with you and the sea?’ Erik asked as Meg leaned over the railing to feel the air on her face.

Turning her attention to Erik, Meg smiled at him and shrugged. ‘I think it’s something to do about my father’s story to me. It never truly left my memory, you know.’

‘Will you tell it to me?’ Erik asked quietly, his gaze seaward as well.

Meg looked at him with wide eyes. While she had mentioned her father’s creativity in regards to bedtime stories, Erik had never asked her about any of the stories she had mentioned in passing. Taking Erik’s hand in hers, Meg squeezed it and let go before she spoke.

‘It was the story of a naiad that heard the laments of a fisherman, he was grieving the loss of his betrothed and the naiad swam up to him, singing to him and comforting him.’ She smiled faintly. ‘That story kept me entertained for three months because of how long that romance took.’

She recalled each detail, narrated how the fisherman moved on from his heartache and how the naiad had pleaded with her Queen Mother to be given a mortal form. She told Erik of the ten trials the fisherman had had to go through and how the final one was to greet Death itself without fear and to return with coins from Charon’s bony hands.

‘Did they end up together?’ Erik asked at last, his gaze attentive.

Meg shook her head and looked at Erik, her heart heavy.

‘Papa tried to continue it, he had been doing so every night but he was already ill when the last trial was being told. After that, Mama and I insisted he rest and we took care of him.’ Looking out at the sea, Meg could still recall her father’s words as her mother spoke as the naiad, her voice still light and free of grief.

She could recall coughing fits, blood speckling white handkerchiefs and tired, ashen-faced smiles.

Closing her eyes, Meg forced back the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. She had gotten past this years ago, yet to this day the ache did not leave. She would still sometimes turn when she thought she had heard her father speak. Sometimes, she would think she had even seen him in his study whenever she passed it by.

That was why the door was closed no matter what.

Feeling arms wrapped around her, a chin resting on her head. Meg sighed and leaned back against Erik, the ache was still there and tears threatened to stream down her face if she said anything else.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Erik murmured. ‘I am certain your father had had the perfect ending in mind.’

She wanted to tell him how for her, all her father’s endings were perfect. Because he and her mother had made it together. Crafted each plot, dance, character and song with all the love they had for her and each other that the thought of it being anything but perfect for her youthful mind that time was preposterous.

Instead, she stayed silent.

To her surprise, Erik did not pull away from this embrace. He kept holding her, the two of them gazing out at the sea. It wasn’t until she felt the vibrations from his chest that she realised he was humming again. It wasn’t his composition, but it was an opera piece. She wasn’t familiar with it but she knew it was one of the nicer ones. Closing her eyes, Meg sighed.

‘Thank you.’ She whispered.

Erik did not respond and kept holding her instead.

* * *

That evening, when Meg went out to dance, Erik played a slower tune for her. A gentler tune for her to dance to. And it was in this dance that Meg met Erik’s gaze, his eyes seeming to glow in the dark as she spun and danced round him on the deck that led to her realising something devastating but joyful. The smile on her husband’s face was enough to assure her that the fluttering in her heart and that warmth within her was leading her to something more.

But she pushed it down and pretended not to feel it.

For what use would it be for Meg who was just a summer love to fall for one who loved another deeply?

His friendship was enough for her.

It has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like someone caught feelings 😉 But hey, Meg will be okay. I think. ☺️ As always, please don’t hesitate to comment it keeps me motivated to keep writing!


	13. Love's Language

_How does Love speak?  
In the faint flush upon the telltale cheek,  
And in the pallor that succeeds it; by  
The quivering lid of an averted eye--  
The smile that proves the parent to a sigh  
Thus doth Love speak.  
  
How does Love speak?  
By the uneven heart-throbs, and the freak  
Of bounding pulses that stand still and ache,  
While new emotions, like strange barges, make  
Along vein-channels their disturbing course;  
Still as the dawn, and with the dawn's swift force--  
Thus doth Love speak.  
  
How does Love speak?  
In the avoidance of that which we seek--  
The sudden silence and reserve when near--  
The eye that glistens with an unshed tear--  
The joy that seems the counterpart of fear,  
As the alarmed heart leaps in the breast,  
And knows, and names, and greets its godlike guest--  
Thus doth Love speak._

_How does Love speak?  
In the proud spirit suddenly grown meek--  
The haughty heart grown humble; in the tender  
And unnamed light that floods the world with splendor;  
In the resemblance which the fond eyes trace  
In all fair things to one beloved face;  
In the shy touch of hands that thrill and tremble;  
In looks and lips that can no more dissemble--  
Thus doth Love speak.  
  
How does Love speak?  
In the wild words that uttered seem so weak  
They shrink ashamed in silence; in the fire  
Glance strikes with glance, swift flashing high and higher,  
Like lightnings that precede the mighty storm;  
In the deep, soulful stillness; in the warm,  
Impassioned tide that sweeps through throbbing veins,  
Between the shores of keen delights and pains;  
In the embrace where madness melts in bliss,  
And in the convulsive rapture of a kiss--  
Thus doth Love speak.  
  
_ **-Love's Languages, Ella Wheeler Wilcox**

* * *

There was something different about Meg.

The moment they had finished her night dance, Erik made to take her hand as they were wont to do. But as he did so, Meg moved past him and went for their cabin alone. He shrugged it off as Meg being tired and when he entered the room they shared, he saw her asleep. Feeling reassured in why she suddenly avoided his touch, Erik undressed and laid beside her.

He pretended not to feel the loss of her embrace that night.

When he awoke, Meg was already gone from their room and upon dressing and leaving the small room, Erik found himself alone in the cabin. Confused, he left the cabin and was about to head to the dining area to see if Meg was eating with her mother when he saw a familiar mess of golden curls.

‘Meg.’ He greeted.

Seeing the little jump Meg made when she saw him followed by her eyes averting their gaze from his.

‘Erik.’ She returned. ‘I got some breakfast for you.’ She mumbled, holding out the tray to him.

Erik accepted the food with thanks and looked at Meg in concern. There was a flush to her cheeks and while he knew his wife to always have rosy cheeks, he had never seen her cheeks _that_ flushed. Reaching out with his free hand while balancing the tray in the other, Erik felt for Meg’s temperature.

‘Are you alright?’ He asked quietly, trying to meet her eyes though she ducked her head in response.

‘It’s nothing, Erik. I suppose I just woke up feeling unwell.’ She answered, her voice wavering slightly. ‘I just didn’t want to wake you.’

Erik frowned. ‘Were you already feeling like this since last night?’ He asked, trying to peer at her once more only for her to evade his gaze. ‘Marguerite, look at me please.’ 

When Meg looked at him, he did see how different she looked and he felt a pang deep within him at the sight. Choosing to hold his tongue, Erik ushered Meg back into their cabin and after setting his tray on the coffee table, he guided his wife back to the bed and made her lie down. All throughout, Meg had kept insisting that she was perfectly fine and that he needn’t worry about her. Sighing, Erik shook his head and looked at her sternly, brows furrowing.

‘Meg, you quite _literally_ just told me that you woke up feeling ill and then you are now telling me you are alright?’ He asked, his tone almost stern as he said this. ‘I may not have the same knowledge on medicine as I do with music but I know enough to ensure you will not die of any illness if it is mild enough to manage.’

Meg looked at him with wide eyes before she looked away and bit her bottom lip.

‘It truly is nothing, Erik.’ She mumbled. ‘I think I will simply need to sleep this off and then I will be fine.’

Erik sighed and ran his fingers through Meg’s hair to get them out of her face. Looking at her flushed pallor and how she seemed to be uncomfortable, Erik tried to see if he could glean further symptoms from her outward appearance alone. What he had might be enough to be able to ask Hélène to help him. Perhaps Meg would be more amenable to listening to her mother than him.

‘If you wake and still feel terrible, I will have no choice but to alert a nurse onboard along with telling your mother.’ He said sternly. Carefully tucking Meg into the bed, Erik fussed over the blanket and pillow for a bit before he deemed it comfortable for the blonde.

With that done, Erik left and shut the door as quietly as he was able.

* * *

‘What do you mean Meg is ill?’ Hélène asked Erik, tone sharp. ‘Meg had never been ill in her life.’

‘Not even a fever?’ Erik asked, his brow rising at his mother-in-law. ‘All I am saying is that she woke up unwell and she still left our cabin to fetch me breakfast.’

As if seeming to understand what Erik was telling her, Hélène frowned as if what she understood only seemed to confuse her further. 

‘Erik, Meg was quite fine when she had breakfast with me and Hasan earlier.’ She told him, her tone halting slightly as if she was trying to understand what had occurred in just a matter of moments. ‘How could it be that she is ill in so quick a moment?’

Erik looked at Hélène, his lips pressed together before he spoke again. ‘Did Meg never tell you if she is ill?’ He asked. ‘Because Marguerite had never struck me to be the sort of person to be upfront about anything that ails her.’

‘You are correct in that.’ Hélène agreed. ‘Marguerite never liked to tell people if she is hurt or ill. But there were no tells that I could recognise.’

‘Not even her flushed complexion?’ Erik demanded, his tone becoming sharp. ‘Hélène, Meg was flushed and she looked deeply uncomfortable while speaking to me. Unless she had suddenly grown to dislike my company-’

Erik halted.

Perhaps that was it. But she had never conveyed it to him that she found him to be intolerable company and she never seemed to indicate to him that he was repulsive to her. Clenching his fingers into a fist, Erik tried to ignore the pang in his chest at the thought of losing Meg’s friendship. 

‘Erik?’

Looking at Hélène, Erik shook his head and rose from his seat. He vaguely remembered thanking her for listening to his concerns and that he must return to his cabin now. Though he could see the concern in her eyes, Erik pretended not to see it and instead he left the older woman’s cabin and returned to his cabin with Meg. The constant thought that Meg may not desire his company made him want to return to Daroga’s room but the possibility that Meg might be ill stayed him from doing so. Instead, he went and checked in on her in their small room and he felt relief wash over him.

Meg was ill. She had clearly woken from her sleep and was likely feeling a chill which led to her taking his cloak to use as another layer to their blanket.

Of course, he knew his cloak was not a sufficient addition to keep her warm but he did not take it from her. Only, he looked if there were any spare blankets stored away and when he managed to find one, he draped it over her as well.

* * *

That evening, Erik had asked for dinner to be brought to his cabin with Meg so he could ensure to it that Meg would not have to grow more ill by moving about. He was certain she was still asleep and so he did not enter their room. He stayed outside and continued composing the music that had been playing around in his mind. He did not know if it was to be for an aria or if it was just meant to be as is but he figured that when Meg is well enough, he could play some of it and see if she will see it as a song or otherwise.

‘Erik?’ Looking up from his composition, Erik smiled slightly at the sight of his wife leaving their room with sleep-heavy eyes.

‘Meg,’ he greeted, setting his writing materials on the coffee table. ‘How are you?’ He asked. ‘Still unwell?’

Erik found himself being embraced by her in response and though he did not understand why she would do that after he inquired about her wellbeing, Erik reciprocated the gesture before he had her sit beside him on the settee.

‘I’m…much better now, thank you.’ She mumbled. ‘I'm sorry if I caused you any upset.’

Looking at the blonde, Erik found himself lacking in any spite. He knew she was ill and there was no way he would hold that against her. Pressing his palm against her forehead, he found her temperature to be stable and he sighed in relief. 

‘I am not upset.’ He said in response. ‘I was simply concerned for you.’

Meg looked at him and he saw a faint blush tainting her cheeks. 

‘There is no need to be embarrassed, Meg.’ He assured her, his tone gentle. ‘I do not wish to see any friend of mine, especially one as dear as you, hurt or ailing in any way.’

Though Erik saw a brief flash of a different emotion in her eyes that made her look more vulnerable, Erik found it replaced immediately by the usual brightness of her dark-eyed gaze. She smiled though it was not as wide as before she grew ill.

‘Thank you for understanding, Erik.’ She told him, her hand finding its way to his and he held on tight, wishing to reassure her in any way he can think of.

When they had finished their dinner, Erik had promised Meg that he shall be following her shortly. When he was certain she had gone to bed, Erik took out his violin and began playing. It was not his composition, but it was a fraction of its quality. He would have played her a lullaby if he were familiar with any, but seeing as he was not, Erik chose instead to play this in the hopes of lulling the fair-haired dancer to sleep.

When he had finished his piece, he packed away the violin and went to his room with Meg. 

That night, Erik was the one who pulled Meg into his arms as she slept. He was surprised when Meg turned around to face him, her arm going round his waist as she had done so in the past. Feeling reassured that what he feared was not true, Erik sighed and allowed himself to sink into the depths of sleep, far from the waking world and consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik is quite dense. QwQ but hey, he tries his best and that’s what matters I think. I hope you guys enjoyed this! And as always, please don’t hesitate to comment as it keeps me motivated!!


	14. Away from Home are some-

_Away from Home are some and I—  
An Emigrant to be  
In a Metropolis of Homes  
Is easy, possibly—  
  
The Habit of a Foreign Sky  
We—difficult—acquire  
As Children, who remain in Face  
The more their Feet retire._

**-821, Emily Dickinson**

* * *

They arrived in America three days later.

Meg’s injury had healed by then and though she still had moments where she would attempt avoiding Erik by feigning something as small as visiting her mother or speaking with some acquaintances she had made on the ship, she no longer actively sought to run from him. Once was enough and running from her husband made her feel guilt deep enough to swallow her in its depths.

Instead, she continued to be his friend and confidante. She did all she could to continue with acting as herself like nothing at all had changed within her heart. She took care not to show too much fondness and affection than she normally would and she also took care to avoid feigning indifference now that she knew that Erik was familiar with her body language.

And now here they were.

Holding Erik’s hand tightly in her own, Meg looked up at the Opera Ghost and smiled a smile that was tight and close-lipped, her dark eyes shining with uncertainty. After all, while they were comfortable with their lives in Paris, Meg did not know her husband’s plans. Not in full at least. She knew what he had planned in the long term and she was worried about the short term.

‘I can assure you, Meg, everything will be alright.’ Erik assured her, his voice hushed so none might hear them.

Meg looked at Erik and though she knew him to be a clever man, she still was unable to stop the frantic beating of her heart. She was pulled towards him and she felt his arm encircle her. 

‘Breathe, Meg.’ He instructed her calmly. ‘All will be well.’

‘You’re being dangerously optimistic in this, Erik.’ Meg remarked, her eyes flicking up to meet her husband’s gaze.

Erik responded with a small smile, yellow eyes glittering with mirth. ‘I am simply taking a page from your book, Marguerite.’ He responded as they began walking down to the direction where immigrants were supposed to go to.

Erik had decided to take both his and her bags or as much of it as he was able to carry. What meg had managed to carry was supposed to be two but Erik had protested when he checked on her injured hand. It was endearing to see him be so concerned for her. Was this how he was like to Christine or was he perhaps very different from how he acts now?

Meeting with Hasan and her mother, Meg thanked the Persian as he took one of the bags from Erik’s hold and placed it on top of his trunk. Her mother had carried only a few things with her but Meg was glad she had packed some of her mother’s clothes in secret whenever she or Erik had been busy back in Paris. Her mother pulled her into an embrace and Meg held on tightly to her mother.

‘Everything will turn out alright.’ Her mother told her reassuringly. ‘You will see.’

Looking between her mother and then at Erik and Hasan who were discussing something. She felt a smile grace her lips.

‘I have faith it will.’

* * *

While they were waiting in line, Meg had been briefed about their plan. Erik was to take her surname and they had formed a reason for the mask that covered most of his face in order to dissuade people from asking anything that might lead to their discovery. They had run each other through crucial parts of their story and possible answers that they shall be giving and with their documents in hand, they went on.

The process was not too stressful. At least, not for Meg, though she felt guilt try to rise against her as she lied through various questions but so far she had managed to keep her act straight and her voice free from any trembling or any tells that might indicate she is lying. When she was allowed through, she left and joined her mother and Monsieur Azadi who had gone before her and Erik. All that was left now was her husband.

Holding tightly onto her mother, Meg tried not to express too much of her worry to her mother lest her true feelings be seen by the older woman. While they waited, Meg silently prayed for Erik to be able to get through, her heart pounding madly all throughout.

It was only the sight of Erik striding towards her with a reassuring smile and a confident gait that made Meg relax. Letting go of her mother’s hands, Meg ran to Erik and threw herself at him. To her surprise, he caught her quite easily and even spun her around with a quiet chuckle.

‘Worried about me, Marguerite?’ Erik asked teasingly. 

‘Every minute, Erik.’ She confessed, her cheeks warming at her words. ‘Oh, Erik, I was worried they would have not let you pass and that we would have to think of a different plan but you had managed to make it work!’

Erik shook his head and proceeded to begin guiding Meg to their small group. ‘Have faith, Meg. I am not an incompetent fool to have my plans fail so easily.’

Meg did not speak up against it. Even though some of his plans had been hit or miss what with his attachment to Christine, he truly was a genius in many ways. 

‘What’s next in your plan, then?’ Meg asked, tilting her head to one side.

Erik looked at her with a considering gaze before he grinned. ‘Seeing as I doubt any of you would allow me to terrorise any innocent civilian in here, I do believe we just go to our lodgings and think over what we will need to do in the following days.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter but this is more or less just a summary on their arrival in America! Get ready for a bit of a timeskip in the next one but the skip ain’t too big! I’m sorry for the short chapter, again and I do hope you guys like it still!


	15. Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So sorry for the long lack of update! I had had to deal with connectivity issues and I wasn't able to get good connection until now! Would a pretty long-ish chapter make up for it? QwQ Granted, it's more or less a timeskip thing but still?

_What are days for?_   
_Days are where we live._   
_They come, they wake us_   
_Time and time over._   
_They are to be happy in:_   
_Where can we live but days?_

_Ah, solving that question  
_ _Brings the priest and the doctor  
_ _In their long coats  
_ _Running over the fields._

**-Days, Philip Larkin**

* * *

The following months, Meg had become witness to Erik’s plan.

With Hasan serving as his speaker along with her mother acting as a woman of the arts, they had secured interested investors in Erik’s venture. When asked who was the one truly heading the project, Meg stepped in and introduced herself as the wife of that man. Erik took to signing things either as M. Giry or M. Y on some occasions. When Meg asked why on earth he would choose a pseudonym like that, her husband only shrugged and avoided her gaze as if too embarrassed to admit it.

_“Erik?” Meg asked, her brows going up as if trying to coax him to speak. “I promise I won’t laugh.”_

_She could see a faint dusting of red on his cheeks and she found the sight endearing. Reaching up, Meg brushed a hand over that cheek and tried to convince him to confess why he would go for such an alias._

_“Mister Y is a play on words to make it look like ‘mystery’ when i sign.” Erik admitted at last, his voice was still steady but Meg could see his embarrassment at the admission._

_“Then why not Mister E?” She asked, ensuring to make her tone neutral. “The effect would still be the same and you would not be lying either.”_

_Erik only responded to her inquiry by looking at her dumbfoundedly._

Though Meg had insisted on finding work to add to their credit further - though Erik had apparently found a way to procure them decent shelter, how he managed that he never told her - Erik heavily protested to the idea. Her mother had tried to offer she work instead but Hasan, Erik and Meg all protested. Hasan, being a respectable fellow of some level, had been able to help them get by with the money he had stored away for any event that he considered an emergency. The evening after that discussion, Meg brought up finding work again and she saw Erik stiffen, his hand clenching into a fist and almost snapping his pen.

_“All I’m saying, Erik, is that it would help us. If the investors decide they do not want to risk in our venture, then any extra money we could gather would be good.” Meg explained as she folded up some of their laundry. “I’d done it before, remember?”_

_“I recall Hélène mentioned that you’d sold your best dresses, Marguerite.” Erik replied, his voice terse._

_Meg fell silent and she looked at her husband. He was not misinformed but she felt no regret at such a thing._

_“They sold for a good price.” She answered as she quietly finished her chose and began putting their clothes away. “But most of my clothes are not as good as before. I’ve only got one.”_

_Her gown of the Sylph Queen was her dearest gown. One she had not worn at all aside from fitting to see if it was a good size. But she figured there were other girls who would fit in it and have events more suitable for them to wear it rather than gathering dust because it was never the right time._

_“Marguerite, if you think I don’t see what’s going through that head of yours, I suggest you rethink that belief.” Erik warned her, his voice low._

_Meg looked at Erik and she smiled and shrugged. “Erik, I’d willingly sell even my hair for the sake of helping my family. The gown will be sold and I shall perhaps find work with a seamstress, I know enough English to get by and you, mother and Monsieur Azadi can follow your plans.”_

_Erik muttered something the blonde was certain was an oath as he rubbed his face roughly. Looking at Meg with eyes that shone brightly even in candlelight, Erik rose from where he sat and pulled Meg to him._

_“And what of your dancing, Meg?” He demanded. “What of your dreams of becoming a prima ballerina? Becoming stable enough to travel the world with your mother? Did you not think I would recall our dinner conversations?”_

_Meg shook her head. His care for her was overwhelming and to look at his eyes made her heart ache. Yet she still did. Because in those eyes reflected his soul._

_And whenever she saw his soul, she felt herself fall in love with him further._

_“Erik, like I said, I’m not naive to the ways of the world. I know that not all dreams come true and even with a simple job I’m certain that that dream will come true.” Giving him a reassuring smile, Meg leaned up to kiss his cheek. “And if not? Then I’d travelled the world enough for a lifetime.”_

_“Two countries, Meg?” Erik asked. “You cannot be so content with your life that you would consider that enough!”_

_“But I am.” Meg answered. “I had travelled, danced, worked, experienced heartache and so much more in this life. I consider it decently lived.”_

_Erik looked at Meg and for a moment, Meg believed herself to have seen that soft gaze he had directed at Christine when she revealed him in Don Juan Triumphant. She knew better but she liked to think she saw it nonetheless._

_“Meg,” Erik began, his tone gentler. “I refuse to have you give up your dreams simply because you can ignore that pang. I see you every night when I play for you and how happy you look when you dance. Do you think you can ignore that fire in you for longer than a week?”_

_Meg was silent when she heard his words. He was not wrong that it would be pure torture for her not to dance as her soul was as free as the birds and the wind. But Meg had always made do with what she had. Where a door is closed, she leaves or enters through a window. Taking Erik’s hands in her own, Meg squeezed it and smiled reassuringly._

_“I can manage.” She promised her husband._

Of course, every time Meg was about to leave in search for work, Erik had one thing to show her or the other. Or somehow, an investor’s meeting was about to come up and Erik needed her to speak for him instead of Monsieur Azadi or her mother who suddenly had errands to do that day. Meg would humour her husband though she could see what he was doing so plainly that she found herself coming to expect a sudden change of plans if she so much as announced to him that she was to leave their lodgings for the day.

Fortunately, they had one such day where Erik had to finally introduce himself to the investors who had finally come to a decision. But they only said they shall tell them of that decision if they got to meet their enigmatic businessman.in that meeting. That was the chance Meg took and so, she took out the Sylph Queen’s gown and packed it away as carefully as she can, searched for her most presentable attire and left while her mother was busy and with Monsieur Azadi and Erik out.

That day, she managed to sell her gown to a seamstress who told her no credit shall go to her for making the gown and Meg assured her that it was all well and good. She had given up enough of her life that she had been alright with letting go of things she was fond of. While she was wandering through the town, following the seamstress’ instructions to find the one shop that was searching for assistants, she heard quickened footsteps and she was spun around to face whoever followed her.

It was Erik.

_“Marguerite, what in God’s name are you doing here!” Erik hissed at her, trying to keep his voice low._

_Meg met Erik’s gaze evenly and she gently pried away his fingers from her arm. For though her heart beats wildly against her chest, she also had no desire to allow Erik to be upset at her for trying to help._

_“I managed to get us some money and I’ve been recommended as an assistant in a dress shop.” Injecting her optimistic tone in her voice, Meg smiled up at Erik who was looking thunderous at her words. “Erik, you need to understand that any money you all have should be kept for rainy days, not something we should keep spending.”_

_“God help us.” Erik muttered, pulling Meg away from the shops and towards the cab he and Monsieur Azadi had used._

Erik did not speak to her for well over two weeks because of that. But she did not apologise for that and still sought work, whether it was doing laundry, cleaning, sweeping streets, she took what she could get that was short term so she would not spend too long away from home. She stopped dancing so she could work and every time she was paid, she would give the money to her mother so they could store it someplace safe. The price she had had to pay was the smoothness of her hands and the energy she had to dance. But the good part was that she was earning enough to make a good amount of savings for her and her family.

Erik broke his silence on the second week after Meg came back from work and all but collapsed on the armchair of their living room. He had rushed to her side to check in on her and for one moment, Meg liked to think that she saw worry in him.

_“Marguerite Giry, after this last job you are not to work another moment, am I clear?’ He hissed, his hands finding its grip on her shoulders. “I refuse to allow you to work yourself to death for the sheer purpose of trying to keep us from spending what savings we have for this plan of mine.”_

Meg didn’t protest at that and allowed him to carry her back to bed. That night, Erik brought her dinner and though she could tell he was upset at her, he did not express any anger and only fussed over her, trying to keep her comfortable. After dinner, Erik proceeded to begin playing for her and as Meg sank into the clutches of sleep, she heard Erik telling her that he has some news to tell her in the morning.

Come sun up, Meg woke to Erik bringing her breakfast once more and placing the tray on her lap. 

_“You, Meg Giry, are no longer going to have to work from here on out.”_ _Erik told her, his tone final. “Because starting today? Construction for Phantasma shall begin.” Pausing, Erik added with a slight grimace. “With the investors looking in every now and again, of course.”_

And construction did begin. Erik had taken Meg down to the beach where the park was to be built and she had begun seeing workers coming in and some bringing their families along. To see life thrive once more, to see hope and excitement for the future. Even if it was built on opportunity hungry investors, Meg still found the sight to be a beautiful one. 

Meg was introduced to some of the heads of various parts of the park’s construction and she even got to meet some of the wives and children. 

From that day forwards, Erik had somehow managed to get Meg to help him charm their investors further. Meg even found a friend in some of them and had told them of her dancing and experience in ballet.

_“Giry, I insist you let one of the entertainment involve your wife’s craft!” M. Baker, a kindly, round man of about seventy who jumped into the investment because of a potential to see something children would enjoy, exclaimed after Meg told him of her love for ballet. “Letting such precious talent waste away? You would have to be quite mad!”_

_Erik looked at Meg who felt her cheeks warm when her husband met her gaze. She saw a gleam in those golden eyes and the ballerina found she did not know what to make of those eyes of his._

_“I assure you, Baker, my wife shall be provided with that as it is in my plans even before you mentioned such a thing.” Erik replied before turning away to speak with some workers, pointing to various areas that he had assigned blueprints for._

It was after Erik had spent all day at the construction and Meg in turn had been at home with her mother and Monsieur Azadi. Erik had told her earlier that they best find lodgings nearer to the construction site and so they were packing once more. While she was doing so, she found her pointe shoes and Meg felt a wistfulness fill her at the sight. Nights of dancing onboard a ship with only one audience that played for her and watched her, linked hands holding each other as they snuck back to their cabin; smiles, friendship and laughter growing between them. Shaking her head, she put it into her bag and she hefted it onto her shoulder. While her relationship with Erik was not as frosty during the time he had discovered she took on work for the sake of the family, there was still a wall between them. A thin, glass wall that separated them even though both of them were trying to be as they were before. The distance both felt safe and awful for Meg. She didn’t have to keep up too much of her act of having to hold Erik at arm’s length and treat him like how she would a friend, but it was awful because seeing him smile and laugh - albeit false smiles and laughter - whenever they visited the site and spoke with the people under their employ, it left an ache in her to remember that hey were close in that manner once.

Yet every time she thought of what led to that distance, Meg knew she would never apologise for that. Why should she apologise for something that she had done only for the purpose of helping her family? She was not repentant at all.

‘Marguerite?’ Monsieur Azadi’s voice broke through her thoughts and she turned to look at the Persian, his bags already having been packed. ‘Are you ready?’

Meg nodded and picked up the bags she could carry. Moving past her, Monsieur Azadi picked up the rest and carefully piled them on top of his trunk. Together, the two went and met with her mother who had already gone into the cab sent to them. The ride to their new lodgings was quiet and Meg was certain she had fallen asleep on her mother’s shoulder while the cab drove them off but she woke quickly when her mother gently shook her, Hélène Giry’s voice gently informing the young blonde that they had arrived. Monsieur Azadi was the first to step out, followed by Meg who was helped off the cab by the Persian And finally, her mother. 

‘And here I thought you would all get lost.’ Erik’s voice greeted them as he stepped out of a lavish home, wearing his waistcoat over a shirt. Looking at Meg, Erik smiled. ‘Marguerite, I believe we have your friendship with Monsieur Baker to thank for our new lodging.’

Dumbfounded, Meg looked at her husband. ‘Erik, I don’t think I understand.’

‘Let’s bring all your things inside first, then we could discuss this better.’

With Erik helping move all their luggage’s back inside, they managed to get into their new lodging in less than half an hour. Shutting the door after everyone had entered, Erik guided them to the sitting room where he had apparently set up his writing on along with a tea tray and some whiskey glasses along with a bottle at the distant end of the coffee table. As he guided them, Erik had explained that whenever Meg was with him, she seemed to gravitate towards Monsieur Baker who had in turn grown fond of her as he had a beloved daughter with Meg’s kindness and smiles and after several conversations with Meg, the old man had asked where they were residing in and when Erik answered, Monsieur Baker had insisted they stay in one of his spare houses so they would be nearer the site and they would not have to waste too much time trying to visit when they could simply walk that distance. Meg did not expect to hear such an explanation. She only approached the old man since he had the kindest, most open eyes among the investors. The rest seemed wary, guarded, more or less treating this venture more as a sporting gamble than anything else. And she did not resent them nor hate them for it, but she just felt ill at ease with them that she felt safer to approach the only one who bore an open, easy smile. She grew quite fond of the old man by the end of each conversation and still, Meg did not expect him to offer such a gift.

She felt a shy smile grace her lips at the thought of someone becoming fond of her enough to give such a gesture as this.

‘Refreshments.’ Erik absently gestured to the beverages set up. ‘Meg, can we talk?’ He asked, his voice low so that her mother and Hasan would not hear.

Meg nodded, anxiety fluttering within her at the thought of having to discuss anything that might put more of a distance between them. Guiding Meg up the stairs and into a bedroom that Erik had quickly told her was the master’s bedroom. As she stepped through it, she saw Erik making a beeline for the cabinet at the far end.

‘Do your pointe shoes still fit?’ Erik asked, he sounded casual as he opened the cabinet and pulled out a familiar violin case.

Meg shrugged slightly. ‘Yes, but I would have to try and get used to them once more.’

Erik nodded quietly. Opening the case, he took out the violin and began tuning the instrument.

‘It had been awhile, Meg.’ He said at last. ‘And while I am still displeased with your self-sacrificing tendency in regards to your happiness… I want you to know that I understand.’ 

Meg was silent and found her voice failed her. Erik did not wait for her to respond and instead took to playing his violin with such sweetness that Meg was surprised. The first few strains was high and happy and as the music progressed, Erik began weaving in notes fraught with longing and heartache and though Meg did not move, she found herself looking at him, meeting his golden-eyed gaze before looking away. He played with such passion and emotion and Meg didn’t know what to make of it. Erik paused in playing and he lowered his instrument, tilting his head slightly at her.

‘Do you not wish to dance?’ Erik asked gently. 

‘I haven’t danced in awhile, Erik.’ She answered. ‘Remember? I need to do my stretches. Perhaps later?’ Meg said carefully. She wanted to dance, especially with his music being played. It felt…right. 

But she still remembered her lessons well enough that she would not dance without doing her stretches.

As if understanding, Erik nodded and returned his violin to its case. Returning to her side, Erik took her hand and squeezed it slightly. She saw an apology in his eyes and he leaned close to kiss her cheek. Meg felt her stomach lurch at the gesture. It was thrilling but Meg tamped down the joy she felt. They were friends. She does this with all her friends, Erik can do this too. Especially since it seemed like he was using her as an example on how proper friendships work.

‘Later then.’ Erik murmured. ‘I will confess, I had deeply missed our time together. This distance we had… it felt cruel.’

Meg only smiled in response and stood on her toes, kissing his nose playfully before she told him she would be fetching her bags. 

That evening, at two in the morning, the strains of that sweet, wistful and happy melody filled the unlit halls of the gifted home where an Opera Ghost and a ballerina resides in. Within their room, Erik moved with Meg as the two danced around one another to the strains of an unfinished song, eyes of gold meeting those of coal, golden hair glinting in the candlelight as a raven-haired man played the violin to suit the flowing movements of her dance. 

One might argue they appeared to be Persephone and Hades with how one gravitated to the dark and one to the light but both still seeming to find their way to one another regardless of what happened.

As dawn broke upon the household, Meg was lying beside Erik, her head resting upon his bare chest, a blanket keeping their bare forms covered. Erik was running his fingers through her hair, humming a composition of his absently while Meg laced her fingers with his other hand’s. 

‘Did I not assure you that all will be well?’ Erik asked at last, pulling Meg closer to his side.

And though Meg did not reply, she genuinely had faith that it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this! This was pretty fun to write, I won't lie! Please don't hesitate to comment as it keeps me motivated to keep on writing!!


	16. I Do Not Love Thee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhh thanks so much for the continued support you guys, this means so much to me and I hope you like this chapter!!!

_I do not love thee!—no! I do not love thee!_   
_And yet when thou art absent I am sad;_   
_And envy even the bright blue sky above thee,_   
_Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad._

_I do not love thee!—yet, I know not why,_   
_Whate’er thou dost seems still well done, to me:_   
_And often in my solitude I sigh_   
_That those I do love are not more like thee!_

_I do not love thee!—yet, when thou art gone,_   
_I hate the sound (though those who speak be dear)_   
_Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone_   
_Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear._

_I do not love thee!—yet thy speaking eyes,_   
_With their deep, bright, and most expressive blue,_   
_Between me and the midnight heaven arise,_   
_Oftener than any eyes I ever knew._

_I know I do not love thee! yet, alas!_   
_Others will scarcely trust my candid heart;_   
_And oft I catch them smiling as they pass,_   
_Because they see me gazing where thou art._

**-Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton**

* * *

When Erik awoke, he saw Meg’s side empty and all her things were carefully laid out on the bedside. Frowning, Erik got up and changed into his day clothes, hurrying to get dressed, the Phantom went out of their room and to the kitchen, expecting her to be there.

She was not.

Daroga was there, reading the day’s newspaper practically ignoring the cup of coffee set down before him. Hélène Giry was washing the dishes, her eyes more focused on what lays beyond the windows of their new home, her brows knitted together in concern.

‘Where is Marguerite?’ Erik asked, his voice slightly lower than usual due to Morpheus’ claws still clinging into his consciousness.

Hélène turned her attention to him and she set aside the dish she was washing. Wiping her hands on the nearby towel, Hélène sat beside Daroga and took his cooling coffee. Taking a sip from it, the older woman turned her attention to the window for a brief moment before returning her gaze to Erik.

‘Meg had said she wanted to see the seaside, I told her to be back by noon.’ Hélène explained quietly, her tone a mixture of confident and wary as she continued to drink from the Daroga’s cup. ‘I trust her that she knows her way around but I still worry.’

‘Which is why I escorted her there, advised her to keep away and be careful.’ Hasan added in, his tone calm. ‘I shall be going to the site shortly just to observe and we shall, be back for luncheon as promised.’ 

‘And you left my wife there?’ Erik snapped. ‘Alone!’

Hasan looked at him with dark, wide eyes before he blinked. Exchanging glances with Hélène, the Persian rose from his seat and patted the raven-haired woman’s shoulder before he turned to look at Erik.

‘Seeing as you worry about her, shall we?’ Hasan gestured to the door.

Grumbling out insults about the incompetence of the Daroga, Erik followed the Persian, snatching his cloak from the stand by the door as he did so.

‘How can you even be so  _ careless _ , Daroga!’ He hissed at the Persian who kept walking with a relaxed expression. ‘This is not Paris, none of these people know Meg and if they find out she is a kind soul prone to give her help and heart to anyone, then she would be taken advantage of.’

Hasan was silent as Erik ranted at him, a small smile on his lips, amusement glittering in his dark eyes. Erik did not understand what was so amusing to Hasan seeing as he had just expressed a very concerning matter but the Opera Ghost chose to pay his companion no mind as he rushed to the site when he saw workers there gathered around something.

If it was Meg then there would be questions about what they are doing.

But as they approached, he noticed how they weren’t crowding around something so much as they were having a conversation while watching whatever was going on in the waters. Crossing his arms, Erik cleared his throat to gain his workers’ attention.

‘Would anyone care to tell me what is so interesting that has you lot crowded round here?’ He asked, his tone stern.

One of the workers, a young man with dark eyes that seemed to reflect too much innocence for his station in life, spoke up.

‘Well, the missus is helping our wives and mothers and sisters with their chores and even helping fix up some of the homes we were setting up nearby.’ The young man explained, gesturing to the foundations of what would be homes being set up before them. And as the young man mentioned, his wife was there as well. Squinting to try and get a better look, he frowned.

‘She looks damp.’ Turning his attention to Hasan, he frowned at the Persian. ‘Daroga, why is she damp?’ 

Hasan looked at him before looking at Meg, his lips curling up in a fond smile. ‘Well, little Giry did say she had plans of swimming that morning.’ Hasan said, his tone calm. ‘So its likely she made good on that plan of hers.’

The thought of Meg swimming in the sea without anyone there to keep her safe made something in Erik twist uncomfortably. He was not fond of the idea of her not being kept safe in such foreign lands and the fact that Hasan seemed to trust too easily made him question how the Persian even managed to get the position of a Daroga. 

‘Get back to work.’ Erik bit out, striding past the men who seemed to have sensed the dark cloud gathering over their employer.

Coming to a halt in front of Meg who was helping some women with fixing up the foundation, Erik had to take a moment to compose himself when he caught sight of his wife. Dampened golden curls were tied back by her old cream ribbon she uses for her ballet dancing, her gown was also wet but when he looked the very drenched part of her gown was the skirt and there was a healthy flush to her cheeks while she spoke with the women, her English was halting and occasionally clumsy but there was something endearing in the accent she had while she spoke.

Deciding he’d been silent enough, Erik reached out and tapped Meg’s shoulder.

‘Marguerite.’ He greeted when Meg looked at him with wide eyes. ‘I was informed by Hasan that you’d gone here early in the morn.’

Meg looked unsure about whether or not she should respond but the expression she bore only stayed for a few moments before she smiled and excused herself from the women who waved her off. Taking him by the hand, Meg began leading him off to a part of the beach that he had not noticed was already built to have a pier.

‘Well, I just wanted to swim at first.’ Meg said quietly. ‘But then after that swim, I saw some of the women who were discussing some things like laundry and homes and I asked if they’d need help. I suppose my being married to you was intimidating to them since they won’t stop trying to be as genteel as they could act until I told them to treat me like how they would a daughter-’

Erik held up a hand to stop Meg’s ramblings. ‘There is no need to further explain the situation, Meg.’ He sighed. ‘But I am concerned as to how you managed to swim here without anyone noticing you.’ 

Meg shrugged. ‘I only got to sleep for two hours or so and it wasn’t too hard to ignore the awkwardness. I just saw some of the wives of your employees-’

‘ _ Our _ employees.’ Erik absentmindedly corrected her.

‘-and did as they did with their bathing. It was quite refreshing.’ Meg finished with a small laugh.

Erik looked at Meg and he sighed. ‘Trust you to be the only one to be so keen about drenching yourself in saltwater and sand.’ He muttered. 

‘Don’t worry, Erik.’ Meg said consolingly, ‘I won’t drag you into swimming with me if you don’t want to.’

Erik didn’t want to and he supposed he never would do that. Perhaps he could just accompany her the next time she wants to swim just to make sure no unseemly fellow sees her and decides he would like to keep gawking at her. 

‘Your mother told me we need to be back by luncheon.’ That was a partial truth. Hélène did not tell him specifically that he and Meg were to return but she did tell him when Meg was expected to be back. ‘If you still wish to continue to help these ladies, you can come back later and I shall accompany you.’

‘Really?’ His wife asked, her tone laced with excitement. ‘Oh, that would be so wonderful, Erik!’

Throwing her arms around Erik’s neck, the phantom let out a slight grunt as he was pulled forward. Lifting her up and spinning, Erik smiled and set her down again.

‘Yes, yes, that is why we best eat now.’ Erik coaxed, leading her back to the path that would lead them home. 

As they passed by Hasan, Erik ignored the look in Hasan’s face as they walked past, whatever it was, the opera ghost wanted to know nothing about what was going on in his companion’s mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, maybe someone is starting to catch something!
> 
> Maybe. 
> 
> I hope you guys liked this and don’t hesitate to comment as if keeps me motivated to keep writing!


	17. To Be In Love

_To be in love_  
_Is to touch with a lighter hand._  
_In yourself you stretch, you are well._  
_You look at things_  
_Through his eyes._  
_A cardinal is red._  
_A sky is blue._  
_Suddenly you know he knows too._  
_He is not there but_  
_You know you are tasting together_  
_The winter, or a light spring weather._  
_His hand to take your hand is overmuch._  
_Too much to bear._  
_You cannot look in his eyes_  
_Because your pulse must not say_  
_What must not be said._  
_When he_  
_Shuts a door-_  
_Is not there__  
_Your arms are water._  
_And you are free_  
_With a ghastly freedom._  
_You are the beautiful half_  
_Of a golden hurt._  
_You remember and covet his mouth_  
_To touch, to whisper on._  
_Oh when to declare_  
_Is certain Death!_  
_Oh when to apprize_  
_Is to mesmerize,_  
_To see fall down, the Column of Gold,_  
_Into the commonest ash._

**-To Be In Love, Gwendolyn Brooks**

* * *

Hélène Giry was surprised to see her daughter back so early, especially with Erik accompanying her. She did not miss the fact that her son-in-law seemed to be spending more time with her daughter as of late and though she was still mistrusting of him, she found that she did not loathe him as much as before. He had proven himself to be a capable man to care for Meg. Besides, from what her daughter had told her, Meg had become good friends with him.

It was not the love Meg had wanted but she could see it was doing some good for both of them.

‘I thought you wouldn’t be back until later.’ Hélène greeted her daughter who kissed her cheek. ‘From the way you spoke, it sounded like you had no intentions of being back until luncheon at the least.’

‘Erik persuaded me to come home earlier.’ Meg replied with a slight bounce. ‘Have you started cooking for lunch or shall I?’ Meg asked as she went for the bags of groceries Hélène had bought that day. Judging with the ease Meg had had with taking over the kitchen, Hélène was sure her daughter already knew her answer. 

Turning her attention to Erik, she caught the Opera Ghost watching her daughter with what she could have called was an affectionate gaze. She knew better than to assume it was, of course. Approaching Erik, Hélène looked at Meg as she began working on their luncheon.

‘You seem to have grown fond of my daughter, Erik.’ She commented, her tone unaccusing.

Erik looked at Hélène with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the ballet instructor was certain he would not reply seeing as he was not entitled to answer anything she had to say. Instead, Erik opted for shrugging and resuming his gazing at her daughter.

‘Your daughter is one that I have learned would be difficult to hate or hold a grudge against.’ Erik admitted. ‘I do not see why I cannot grow fond of her in the process of getting to know her.’ 

Had this been the admission of any man, Hélène would have assumed they held a torch for her daughter. The gaze alone would have made her wary seeing as she had seen many a young and cocksure suitor gaze at her daughter in the same fashion. But this was Erik and she knew he had been more or less obsessing over Christine ever since he had gotten to know the future Vicomtesse. 

It was highly unlikely for the ballet instructor to see him move on. She was willing to bet the building of this project of his that were he to see Christine this very moment, he would relapse from what recovery he had made and become the man Paris had feared from before. 

Giving a last, careful glance at Meg who was chopping the vegetables she had taken out. Certain Meg would be alright, Hélème excused herself and left the blonde to check if there was anything needed to be done in regards to the house.

* * *

Erik had watched as Meg moved around the kitchen. Everything was a new experience for her and though he saw her falter in her search for various things she meant tu use for cooking, it did not dampen her enthusiasm. 

‘I’m assuming you will be making a stew.’ 

‘Good guess, Erik.’ Meg replied, setting aside the onions she had chopped. ‘Mama had managed to get some pork so I will be making some pork onion stew.’ 

Without prompting, the Opera Ghost shrugged off his jacket and folded it over the back of a chair. Rolling his sleeves up, Erik stood beside Meg.

‘Let me handle the meat then.’

His wife shot him a disbelieving look and Erik raised a brow at her. He could see the thoughts swimming in her mind and he could feel himself about to defend his skills in cooking. Granted, it was subpar but it was enough not to poison himself on the very rare occasions he ate. 

Instead, Meg pushed the package where the meat was wrapped in towards him and she took to preparing the rest of the ingredients. Silently, he picked up the knife she had discarded and began making even cuts to the meat. 

The two of them moved about the kitchen without much talking. He found that even though they were not doing much communicating, she was still somehow managing to convey what she needed and he managed to understand as well. They did not have this opportunity before and to see they worked quite decently in something as mundane as cooking, Erik took some amused pride in that. It didn’t take too long for Meg to decide that they were done and after checking in on the stew bubbling away in a pot Erik had fetched from the higher shelves of the kitchen, Erik had assumed that they were done in the kitchen when Meg proceeded to take out more ingredients.

‘Mama had also gotten some ingredients for bread, I think bread would go along well with the stew.’ The blonde explained with a bright smile. ‘You don’t need to help, of course.’ She added. 

Yes, he was well aware of that by now. The only thing he was not keen on doing that Meg would make him do was if he tried to avoid eating. Beyond that? Erik would normally have to be the one to offer something to her else she would not suggest it due to her desire to avoid forcing him to doing anything he would detest.

Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, Erik approached Meg once more.

‘Nonsense, I can easily help you with making bread.’ He scoffed. ‘I can easily help you with making something as simple as bread.’

Meg looked at him with a dangerous gleam in her dark eyes.

* * *

Erik was mistaken.

How bread somehow managed to be needlessly frustrating and messy, the Opera Ghost would never understand. Still, he had done as Meg had directed him to do. He still saw no purpose behind why the flour had to have a well in the centre for him to pour yeasted milk into but he still did it and when it was time to knead, Erik may have poured too much flour but Meg corrected him gently.

‘How in God’s name do you even find time to learn all these in between your dancing?’ He muttered, his brows knitted together as he folded the dough to the best of his abilities. Some of it had stuck to his fingers and he was starting to get irritated at how adhesive it is.

Feeling small hands on his, he let Meg guide him how to knead the dough.

‘Well, Mama and I are the only ones in our home. We don’t have a housekeeper and we like to make our food ourselves.’ Meg explained. ‘I tend to cook and bake with Mama at nighttime or early morning whenever there is nothing to be done.’ 

Erik let out a slight laugh before continuing to knead the dough with Meg’s help. As he continued to do so, Meg’s hands stopped guiding him and she returned to the bread she was making. When the two of them had finally finished, Meg put her dough in a bowl and covered it with a dishtowel. Certain that what Meg was doing was right, Erik took another bowl and covered the dough as well.

‘Well, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?’ Meg said brightly. Erik noticed the flour dusting her cheeks and some had found its way into her hair. Erik chuckled.

‘I believe I would rather keep helping with normal dishes than this.’ He responded. ‘The dough was a bit too much for my liking.’

Meg laughed and pulled him away. ‘Come on, we could clean up and then I’ll pack us our lunch. We could have it at the site.’

Erik could have protested.

But Meg’s eager look made him nod.

‘Very well then.’ Erik said, gesturing for Meg to do as she pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand someone is unknowingly whipped for Meg. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and as always, comment as it keeps me motivated! Thanks so much for your support!!


	18. Pain

_Pain speak one language._  
_You owe it to yourself_  
_not to become fluent_  
_in it._

**-Pain, Nikita Gill**

* * *

Their visit to the site went as usual.

Or it went as usual as it was for Erik while Meg went off to help again with the building or the handling of chores.

Sometime in the afternoon, Meg sat Erik down and insisted he eat the lunch she had packed with them and the two of them shared their meal with one another. Erik did not complain about the meal to Meg’s relief and he finished it along with the bread they had baked together.

After lunch, Erik returned to his usual routine and Meg returned to helping the women who had also taken a break while the two had their lunch. 

Fortunately, her husband knew better than to expect her to avoid helping others. She was hale and whole and she had two hands that she could make use of to help others. So she always made sure to it that she did as such. Being in a different country didn’t change much of that habit though it muted it in a small way.

‘You’re so kind with all this, Missus.’ One of the ladies, a woman with wild dark curls and equally dark eyes told her with a shy smile. ‘Normally our betters would’ve just left us to do this since this isn’t really anything important but here you are.’

Meg smiled and passed a nail to her before she took to hammering in some nails as well. ‘Well, I think this is important to you since where else would you stay? Caves never sound comfortable and bare necessities should at least be considered even if it’s not the most ideal.’

Perhaps given time they would be able to offer better lodgings to their employees but for now, they could just make do with what they get.

The day passed just about the same as before.

Erik had spoken with investors, oversaw the building and gave his advice and suggestions to the foreman after consulting with other workers to make sure that his plan would not fail. Come sundown and Erik called for the workday to end when he noticed how the men seemed to be needing a great deal of rest.

Meg was fetched from where she was spending time with the women by Erik who had offered his cloak to her to keep her from the night chill. Smiling gratefully at her husband, Meg took his proffered arm and they made their way to their home. 

* * *

The following morning, Meg came down to the dining room to see her mother reading the newspaper with a deep furrow in her brows. Concern welling up in her, she went over to her mother’s side and tapped her mother’s shoulder.

‘What is it, Mama?’ She asked softly.

Her mother looked startled for a moment before she cleared her throat and held the newspaper out to Meg who took it. She didn’t see what was too concerning about what could be written there but still she read it.

There was news of some big events happening to the country, little events - to her delight, Phantasma’s construction being among them - then there were some obituaries, some other bits and pieces of news. Meg was about to forfeit and ask her mother what it was exactly that the older woman had seen to give her such an expression but then her eyes finally landed on the news her mother was no doubt looking at.

**_THE VISCOUNT AND VISCOUNTESS DE CHAGNY COMES TO AMERICA FOR HONEYMOON!_ **

Granted, Meg was not skilled in reading English yet but even she could understand these simple words. Looking at her mother who looked to be a mixture of concerned and curious, Meg smiled at her reassuringly and embraced the raven-haired woman who embraced her back as well. 

‘If Erik finds out about this, you may lose that friend you’d found in him.’ Her mother told her as she began making her way back to her room with Erik. Pausing at the stairs, Meg looked at her mother and she smiled.

‘Mama, I think Erik should still know. Christine means so much to her. I don’t want either of them to suffer.’ Meg replied, her voice gentle. ‘I promise I’ll do all I can to keep him from reverting back to being angry and embittered to the world.’

Granted, even up til now he was angry and embittered towards humanity but she found that it was not to the same violent extent as before. If anything, he seemed to have even grown to care. Not the way Meg did but in his own way. He was still learning and whatever he learns on the way of bettering himself, he mostly applies it in a way he could, in turn, understand.

Giving a last reassuring smile at her mother, Meg made her way to her bedroom with Erik and entered. There, laying on the bed, hsi back propped up by pillows - some of which he pilfered from her side - and reading his composition was Erik, his lips moving as if sounding out the song through the silence in the air. 

Meg didn’t want to break his trance. Especially if he was to learn of something that might hurt him.

Still, she cleared her throat and approached the bed.

Erik looked at her and he smiled.

‘I thought you’d gone to the sea to swim like yesterday.’ He commented, setting his composition on the bedside drawer. ‘Yet here you still are.’

Meg smiled. He was not wrong, she had designs to swim every morning but he does not know of that yet. She did not tell him anything regarding the speculation he had about her early morning excursion and instead handed the newspaper to her husband who took it with a bemused smile.

‘Do you wish me to teach you English?’ He asked, his tone was not unkind nor was it mocking. But Meg shook her head. 

‘Read the international news there.’ She told him, seating herself beside him on the bed. For that moment, she could feel anxiety coiling within her and she tried to stop herself from fidgeting as she watched Erik’s expression while he read the news. For a moment, she was worried he might tear the paper apart. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath, set down the paper and nodded.

‘The paper said that she and the Vicomte will arrive in a few more days.’ Erik said, his voice and gaze distant. It pained her to see her husband in such a state. But she knew she would not be able to offer him comfort from the pain of heartache. So she watched him, his eyes glazed as he seemed to be locked in a memory before he folded the newspaper and rose from the bed.

‘Erik?’ Meg called out, her voice careful in case he falls into a foul mood.

Erik turned around to face her and he held out a hand to her.

‘Perhaps I might accompany you to your swim, after all, Marguerite.’ He said, his voice hushed.

Meg looked at him and looked into his eyes. There were grief and agony deep within him and she wished for nothing more than to be granted the ability to take it away.

And perhaps she did have that ability.

So she took his hand and led him down with the light footsteps only a dancer was capable of.

She was not Christine.

She wasn’t his angel or his Star Princess.

She was only Meg.

But sometimes, being Only Meg was enough.


	19. The Truth About Your Heart

_Your heart will fix itself._   
_It's your mind you need to worry about._   
_Your mind where you locked the memories,_   
_your mind where you have kept pieces of the ones that hurt you,_   
_that still cut through you like shards of glass._

_Your mind will keep you up at night, make you cry,_   
_destroy you over and over again._

_You need to convince your mind that it has to let go..._   
_because your heart already knows how to heal._

**-The Truth About Your Heart, Nikita Gill**

* * *

The part of the beach she took him to was mostly empty when she brought her husband there.

Their trek was mostly quiet and Erik held tightly to her hand as they walked through the sandy ground. They didn’t speak throughout their journey and Meg didn’t try to coax him to speak. When they got to where Meg had swum the day prior, she noticed how no one was there and she pulled Erik closer to the water.

‘Take off your shoes.’ She advised him.

It was an unnerving sight to see Erik be so silent and complacent to what she was telling as he usually had something to say. Shaking away the discomfort of that silence, Meg settled him in front of the waves and Meg sat beside him. She didn’t dare touch him in case he reacted violently but her closeness was there in case he wanted to seek out her comfort or her presence. 

‘You know, I had released her already.’ Erik said, his voice muted when he said this. ‘Yet when I think myself to be one who is learning to be happy, she returns to me and I feel this-this conflict in me. Would I dare betray such perfection and love? Would I have the gall to even do that?’ Erik’s voice was unsure as he spoke and there was a hauntedness in his golden eyes that Meg didn’t like seeing.

She kept quiet and let him speak.

‘Though you are a dear friend, whenever I see Christine even your sunlight is not enough to outshine the darkness of the memories I have had with her. The comforting cool memories where I could have stolen my Angel from me.’ Erik looked at Meg in anguish and Meg felt her own heart breaking in two. ‘I cannot expect you to understand what I mean-’

‘An unrequited love?’ Meg asked gently. ‘Or the comforting familiarity of an unhealthy obsession?’ Hesitantly, she reached out and touched Erik’s face with fingers that had been roughened in two weeks of hard work. ‘While I do not know the feeling of the latter, I fully know the feeling of the former.’ She explained before pulling her hand back and settling back down on the sand. ‘At the end of the day, we could only wish for the best for them and their true love. To covet them when they are happy,’ Meg shook her head, golden curls bouncing at the motion. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking of.’

Silence sank between them like a knife slowly being embedded into tar and in those long few seconds, Erik did not speak. He merely looked at the sea before them, his hands clenching into a fist, gathering sand into his palm upon doing so.

‘How could you afford to be so giving, Marguerite?’ He asked. There was no bitterness in his question, just a tired curiosity only the defeated could feel deep within their very souls. ‘How do you wake every single day, remembering your loss and heartache and still find it in yourself to be kind to humanity?’

Meg looked at her husband before following his gaze to the sea that stretched far before them. She understood his question and she understood that he would never understand why she cares so much about those who did not even seem to care about her or her family in turn. Meg bit her lower lip as she tried to think of ways to get him to see how she felt about a race Erik had grown to resent. 

‘As I’d said, Erik, I do this in the memory of my father.’ She said softly. ‘But knowing you, the mere memory of a dead man isn’t enough, am I right?’

Erik did not respond to her but she knew she was right.

‘The thing is that that’s just about it.’ Meg shrugged. ‘I do these for love of my father and also for the love of the people. My father raised me to see the best in people and I always saw that the best way I could.’

‘That does not answer much of what I am thinking.’ Erik replied.

Meg looked at Erik.

‘The reason I care about humanity is the same reason why I love humanity.’ She said simply. ‘Because I just do.’ Bringing her knees up to her chest, Meg rested her head on her knees and sighed. ‘Love and care, they don’t always need an explanation nor a deeper meaning.’ Turning her gaze to Erik who had been looking at her as she spoke. ‘Sometimes, it’s the simpler answers that ring the loudest.’

That morning, Meg did not swim in the sea as she had decided to do every morning ever since they had moved. Instead, she sat beside Erik in silence while they looked at the sea where boats passed or where people splashed about. They stayed there for at least an hour before Erik rose and offered his hand for Meg to take which she did so, albeit hesitantly. With both their shoes held in their hands, the two returned to their home where Meg assured her mother that nothing bad had happened and that they just went to the beach to watch the passing boats. She could see that her mother did not believe her but she maintained the lie so that Erik would not be asked about any questions. She cared too much for her husband to let him deal with anything emotionally taxing for the moment.

‘The investors will be expecting his presence at the site.’ Her mother told her as she began preparing ingredients for luncheon. 

‘I’ll go in his place.’ Meg said decisively. ‘Monsieur Azadi will be coming with me and all his affairs will be settled by us.’ Taking hold of both her mother’s hands in hers, Meg squeezed the older woman’s hands and looked at Hélène with pleading eyes. ‘Please, Mama. Let him be for now.’

Hélène looked at her daughter carefully before realisation seemed to sink into her. She shook her head and sighed. 

‘It is a dangerous game you are playing, Meg.’ She told her daughter.

Meg smiled. ‘It is no game I play, Mama.’

* * *

Hasan had accompanied her to the site that afternoon and Meg had dressed in the best frock she had to be able to make sure she would be taken seriously by the investors. 

When she approached them, she brightened up when M. Baker saw her and recognised her. He smiled and took her hand in his, kissing the back of her palm gently before offering her his arm which she politely declined, not forgetting to point out that Hasan was her chaperone.

‘I must know, Marguerite, why is it just you here today?’ M. Baker asked her, a concerned furrow of his bushy brows was directed at her.

Meg bit her lip and she shrugged.

‘My husband is feeling unwell today so I told him I would oversee this for him.’ She answered swiftly, a sure smile on her lips. ‘I hope my presence does not offend?’ 

M. Baker chuckled and shook his head. ‘No, it’s not something to have ruffled feathers for, if you ask me.’ Gesturing for the two to join the other investors, Meg followed Hasan’s lead.

The other investors greeted her politely though she did notice some threw wary glances her way when she approached. Hasan received further scrutiny but either he was oblivious or used to such gawking, he did not make any comment on it at all. Instead, the two took to inquiring what things had been discussed by Erik and what else needed addressing. Apparently, they had all mostly deferred to her husband’s expertise in architecture to make the good decisions and most of their suggestions given to him was something meant to amuse varying families that would be the target demographic for this. Meg listened to the suggestions, took mental notes and ignored some others whose suggestions seemed too outlandish that she didn’t think it to be possible. 

She had stiffened when one of the investors suggested starting a freak show where various deformed beings were to be dressed and made to appear like some sort of odd amusements for the public to mock and scorn.

‘I must say, ‘Meg said with a sweetness she never gave to anyone lest that be her enemy, ‘I find no amusements in having people paraded in front of me for the sheer purpose of mockery.’ 

She could see the investor, an M. Montgomery, growing red in the face with rage. Meg didn’t like being rude to anyone and she never liked causing upset if she can help it, But there were just some things she would rather not have to hear lest her long temper be broken down into sharp, pointed shards of anger dripping with the poison that paints her kind words. She was fully expecting the investor to shout only for a familiar baritone to cut through the air filled with tension and anger.

‘I am inclined to agree with my wife, Montgomery.’ Erik said, stepping in to stand beside Meg, a hand resting on her lower back.

Their eyes met and she saw relief and gratefulness in those golden eyes of his. Meg smiled at him and she felt hopeful that she might have helped him. 

Even in the smallest ways, she truly hoped she had been able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Erik still hasn't figured it out but hey, he's moving forwards at least! Bit by bit, he's moving forwards! I hope you liked this quiet H/C chapter and hey, don't hesitate to comment! It keeps me motivated!


	20. Let me not the marriage of true minds

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_   
_Admit impediments. Love is not love_   
_Which alters when it alteration finds,_   
_Or bends with the remover to remove._   
_O no! it is an ever-fixed mark_   
_That looks on tempests and is never shaken;_   
_It is the star to every wand'ring bark,_   
_Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._   
_Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_   
_Within his bending sickle's compass come;_   
_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_   
_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._   
_If this be error and upon me prov'd,_   
_I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd._

**-Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare**

* * *

‘Thank you for tending to the investors.’ Erik told Meg, taking her hand in his. ‘I was not expecting you to take my place while I...coped.’

Meg looked at Erik and though she was still reeling in surprise at how Erik had managed to come to do his usual routine in spite of the news given to him that morning. She still saw the hurt in his eyes but it was always for just a short moment because whenever their eyes met, he would smile and ask her various things she and Hasan had spoken about with the investors.

Granted, upon his arrival, M. Montgomery had left the group when Erik had calmly refuted his insistence on having a freakshow as that draws crowds and instead, Erik thought of better counter suggestions and concepts that may work better than what he had heard to be suggested. Through it all, Erik kept a tight, polite smile on his face and his grip on Meg’s hand tightened ever so slightly as he debated with Montgomery over the ethics of such a thing and he had even gone so far as to call the older man a savage for even wanting to cage people like animals for the sheer amusement of novelty and exoticism. 

Montgomery proceeded to announce he shall no longer invest in the project but M. Baker laughed it off and assured Meg that he had a contact who had wanted to invest in the project but was beaten to the spot by the time he caught wind of it.

‘Take notes, Meg.’ Erik murmured as they walked on, Hasan leading the group and explaining the floor plans and blueprints to the other gentlemen with the practised ease of a diplomat.

Meg shot an amused look at her husband and looked at the gentlemen who were asking some questions to Hasan who answered it with ease and occasionally throwing suggestions to other questions being thrown his way.

‘What on earth do you expect for me to learn through this?’ She asked, her brows furrowing in an amused confusion. ‘I am just watching them speak to Hasan about these things.’

Erik looked at Meg before he brought a hand to her back and nudged her forward. ‘Keep your head up. Show confidence in your every step and while there will always be some who would not respect you, you will learn to command respect as long as your body projects a surety others can see.’ 

Meg nodded. ‘Is that how Monsieur Azadi managed to get them to listen to him despite them looking at him like…’ At that, the blonde drifted off, unsure how to phrase the statement.

Catching on, Erik nodded. ‘That is why they look at Hasan like a freak of sorts.’ He said simply, his lips thinning as he pressed them together into a tight line.

‘You know his name!’ Meg said, a delighted smile gracing her lips. Though it was quite upsetting to hear that Monsieur Azadi was seen as some form of entertaining new sight for the American gentlemen, Meg had also learned that in his own way, Erik truly did care about the Persian.

Erik looked at Meg and he raised a brow at her. ‘Do you honestly think I would never learn the name of one who I had spent years in Persia with?’ He asked, bemusement colouring his tone.

Meg shrugged. ‘You sometimes tend to act like you hardly knew him beyond him saving your life.’ She answered. ‘It is always reassuring to know that that is not so.

Erik shrugged. ‘I was not...good in those times.’ It was as if he was struggling to find the right words to discuss how he was during that time before everything had fallen apart for him. ‘I believe I did not see the overtures of friendship Hasan had given me and each time, I had thrown it back at his face, threatening him with death and torture every time he visited.’

Meg squeezed the hand that held his and she looked at him. What he had done was deplorable and she would never excuse his murders nor the manner he had acted towards Christine. She saw his loneliness and sought to help him in her own way but at the end of the day the guilt will catch up to him once he is being helped. 

Erik did not look at Meg as they kept their eyes on the Persian who was taking notes on concerns from the investors along with inquiries on how they wobble be able to keep the public’s interest upon their opening. 

‘I am doing all I can to change, Meg.’ He said, his tone hesitant. ‘But I am not a saint like you.’ 

‘I never told you I was a saint.’ Meg replied, her gaze still on the gentlemen. ‘What else should I learn?’ She asked immediately after.

‘Pardon?’

‘You were teaching me how to project confidence or something like that.’ Meg reminded him gently. ‘Was that how you had managed to make everyone fear you at the Populaire?’

Erik looked at Meg from the side of his eye before he shrugged. ‘It was that and my resentment towards humanity.’ His methods of projecting confidence mixed with anger always seemed to be a good way to intimidate anyone.

‘I don’t think I could project that much power even if I tried.’ Meg jested with a little laugh.

Erik looked at his wife and he shook his head. ‘You would not have to.’ He replied, leading her away from the investors after signalling to Hasan that he shall be leaving. ‘With your charm, Meg, I know you will need the subtler amount of that mannerism I had used. You are already friendly enough that the employees’ womenfolk had loved you and grown to see you in a good light. I believe it only fair to do that same charm to the gentlefolk.’ 

Meg looked at Erik as if he had revealed something life-changing to her and Erik waited for her to speak. 

‘You think I’m capable of charming them?’ She asked, her voice dubious. ‘The employees’ wives and sisters and the like I had managed to do but I did not even know I’d managed to get them to like me!’

Erik stopped walking and looked at Meg, surprise written on the unmasked half of his face.

‘Marguerite Giry, you are a very easy woman to love.’ He said bluntly. ‘Friend or lover, you are easy to fall in love with.’

Meg felt her cheeks flush a deep red when she heard Erik tell her that. He seemed so sincere when he had said it that she didn’t think she’d find a lie there even if she tried. To learn that he thought of her in that fashion even if it was only through the eyes of a friend made something inside Meg giddy with joy.

She could have kissed him then and there.

‘I still don’t think I can charm the gentlefolk.’ Meg said instead.

‘Then I shall teach you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while Meg is charming and sweet and all, she’s just still Meg and she just functions as she sees fit while Erik learned how the world works and now he wants to teach her how to act in a way the world will like :3 I hope you guys liked this and please don’t hesitate to comment as it keeps me motivated!! 💖 😘 💖


	21. Trust

_It’s like so many other things in life_  
_to which you must say no or yes._  
_So you take your car to the new mechanic._  
_Sometimes the best thing to do is trust._

_The package left with the disreputable-looking_  
_clerk, the check gulped by the night deposit,_  
_the envelope passed by dozens of strangers—_  
_all show up at their intended destinations._

_The theft that could have happened doesn’t._  
_Wind finally gets where it was going_  
_through the snowy trees, and the river, even_  
_when frozen, arrives at the right place._

_And sometimes you sense how faithfully your life_  
_is delivered, even though you can’t read the address._

**-Trust, Thomas R, Smith**

* * *

Erik was true to his word.

The whole day ever since Erik had come in after he had taken time to calm his mind from the thought of seeing Christine once more, Erik had proceeded to walk Meg through on how to charm the gentry. Her world was different from theirs and though he wished the world was more open to Meg Giry’s views on life, he knew it was not so and instead, focused on teaching her what society expects women to do and how to get around them. He made her practice walking with her head tilted up in a proud manner but found the sight unnerving so he changed it to a confident one but in a manner that was still open enough for anyone to approach. He told her how to read people rather than dive in headfirst with trying to befriend them. 

‘I don’t understand, Erik.’ Meg said with a slight frown. ‘You say my charms will help but I’m still required to do this?’ She asked carefully while he taught her how to read the body language of their workers.

Erik pursed his lips for a moment before he spoke once more. ‘This is to make sure you will be charming the right people. There are men who love their wives dearly and will listen to their counsel and those you can do with ease if I know you well.’ Flashing his wife a smile, Erik looked at the people they were supposed to be reading once more. ‘And I should like to think I know you quite well.’

Erik chuckled when he saw the embarrassed blush Meg had when he complimented her. He seemed to be finding her in a constant state of embarrassment when he did anything remotely kind to her.

‘And the others?’ Meg asked, breaking her silence with a clearing of her throat, her gaze focusing on the men. 

‘Those you will have to learn more and gauge carefully what will get them on your side.’ He said simply. ‘Now, what I’d done was threats and blackmail and I doubt you would stoop to that level.’ Erik explained, trying to ignore the look Meg threw his way.

‘No, I would not have done such a thing.’ Meg said decisively. ‘So, what would you recommend?’ She asked.

‘Then you entertain those variables that will sway them to your side. You cajole and invest and plan to ensure that you get those to your side as well.’ Erik saw the discomfort on his wife’s face and he sighed. ‘I know this sounds like an uncomfortable plan for you, Meg, but this is the way you must do it if you want to get through the world.’

Meg looked at him and she nodded, her lips pressed together as she seemed to think over what it was he had taught her in their time wandering the beach. 

‘I will not doubt you as you hadn’t doubted me whenever I spoke about emotions and caring and all those things you like to think is foreign to you.’ She said simply, her voice a calm confidence in his words as she took his hand and led him back to where she was meant to swim. ‘This is a more quiet place,’ Meg started, her voice soft. ‘I was thinking...you could hold lessons here for me so I wouldn’t embarrass you overmuch?’

Erik sighed. ‘It’s not about embarrassing, Meg.’ He told his wife. ‘It’s about you being able to learn how to move in between both social classes. It will help you survive the world more than you already have managed thus far.’

‘It feels almost like a game to you with how you worded it.’ She mumbled, her cheeks flaring a rosy hue. 

Erik did not tell her that for a time, back in Persia, this  _ was _ a game for him. He did not have to conceal who he was, of course, but he still found himself moving between the peasantry and gentry to see both ways of life and to understand what made one greater than the other. Granted, he never really learned if anyone was truly a greater man seeing as at the end of the day death will come for all but Erik still chose to continue his little game of changing his mannerisms to fit into one social class and then do the same with the other.

‘Act that way long enough and it becomes as easy as breathing.’ He told his wife as he continued their lessons, occasionally drawing diagrams in the sand. All throughout, he thought over how Meg might not know sufficient English to understand the higher society’s vernacular, this he had plans of resolving by helping her learn to read various texts in English from the easier ones like pamphlets to the harder ones like novels and manifestos.

The two stayed there for another hour before they rejoined Hasan and the others,

* * *

That evening, while Erik was composing his piece, the one he had begun writing in the boat which felt like such a different lifetime ago, Meg had approached him and sat beside him. As always, Erik had learned not to hide what he was doing from Meg. Not because he felt she would find a way to invade his privacy but because he felt that there was nothing he needed to hide from one like Meg when all she would normally wish to do is offer her companionship to those she feels would need it.

Erik supposed that due to how his day had begun, his wife might have believed him to be in need of such company,

‘I don’t suppose I had thanked you for what you had done for me this morning?’ Erik said, setting his composition aside to look at his wife who was reading a book of poems. 

Closing her book, Meg turned her attention to Erik with that same affection that she saw the world with.

‘Erik, you don’t have to thank me.’ She said with a small smile. ‘I’m just happy to be of help.’ She said softly. ‘Anything you want to tell me, whether it’s out of joy or frustration, please tell me.’ 

‘Is that what friends do?’ Erik asked, raising his brows at her.

‘Well, yes.’ Meg said simply. ‘You listen and just be there sometimes. It’s not always something that you have to be vocal about, just...something you have to be  _ there _ for.’

Erik nodded and looked at Meg as if seeing her for the first time. Erik felt that he had been looking at her in this manner for longer than he had thought but he found that he did not feel any shame about this.

‘Someday, you might learn what had been my life prior to this.’ Erik said softly, ‘But for now, know that I trust you enough to hear the music that I compose from the depths of my heart.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kinda a filler ish chapter but I hope you guys like this! Just a heads up but I might not update for a few days as I hit a bit of a brick wall while writing but don’t worry, I’ll try to update soon as possible! As always, comments help motivate me in writing!


	22. let it go

_let it go – the_   
_smashed word broken_   
_open vow or_   
_the oath cracked length_   
_wise – let it go it_   
_was sworn to_   
_go_

_let them go – the_   
_truthful liars and_   
_the false fair friends_   
_and the boths and_   
_neithers – you must let them go they_   
_were born_   
_to go_

_let all go – the_   
_big small middling_   
_tall bigger really_   
_the biggest and all_   
_things – let all go_   
_dear_

_so comes love_

**-let it go - the, e.e. cummings**

* * *

The following days were spent in a routine for Meg.

Every morning, before dawn, she would go to the beach and swim. Sometimes it would be as short as fifteen minutes and it could be as long as an hour. She could never place why, but she had found the sea to be a pulling location for her, someplace she could clear her head and cleanse herself from any hurts the previous day had offered her.

By the time she had finished, she would make her way back home, dripping wet and flushed from the exercise. Erik had learned to greet her in the dining room with a towel and she appreciated his forethought. The two would take their breakfast together before Erik would ask her if she would like to see the site or if she had some plans for the day. Sometimes, Meg would accept his offer and walk through the construction site with him and listen to his lessons along with listening to him speak in English which she would repeat so she would slowly lose the accent that was still present despite her passable English. And sometimes, when a dark cloud seems to have hung over her, she would decline his offer and just stay in their bedroom, writing to her father about why or what she was feeling. 

And all throughout, Meg was aware that she can’t keep ignoring the love she felt growing within her the more time she spent with him.

It was both a glorious and devastating thing. To know she knew she had fallen for him, his smiles and gentle words he directed at her. And to know that she was nothing more than a friend to him.

But she had always been a good friend and even through that heartache, she would still find herself acting the same for the sake of maintaining that friendship with Erik.

And yet, even though she tries her best to hide those days when she feels less herself, Erik would somehow find an excuse to return home earlier than usual, a few pamphlets in hand or an offer to dance in the privacy of their room. 

‘I simply found no reason to stay when the business was already concluded for the day.’ Erik told her once, handing her a pamphlet. ‘Monsieur Baker found me some pamphlets to help you learn.’

That evening, Erik and Meg pored over the pamphlet with Erik occasionally correcting her pronunciation and when she manages to read something without his guidance, Erik would smile at her with a smile she felt he only reserved for her. He would nudge the pamphlet closer and brush her hair back with his fingers while she continues to read.

The quiet closeness almost reminded her of her parents’ interactions.

Golden hair being brushed as one read - whether it is poetry or pamphlet - the one bearing dark hair reading the text but more or less silent throughout.

All that was left was the occasional kisses on the head throughout and Meg knew she would be jolted with memories of her father and mother’s domesticity.

Fortunately, none came that night. They simply ended their lesson and Meg embraced Erik who held her close as they succumbed to sleep.

* * *

The day of Christine and Raoul’s arrival in America had finally come.

Meg found herself looking seaward as she dried herself with the towel she had taken. She had woken earlier than usual, Erik was still asleep and the sun was barely up. The waters were cold and jarring when she had gone in but she did not think she felt it after some adjustment. An hour later and Meg still had not returned home, her hair now having dried with the saltwater soaked into her locks, her lips pressed together as she tried to spot the ship listed to be the one to bring Christine and her husband.

Would Erik seek them out?

Would Christine still fall under the spell of his voice?

Shaking her head, the blonde rose from the sand and tried not to shiver as the cold settled deep within her bones. If Erik were to see Christine and find he still loved her, then that only confirmed how she felt he felt towards her. She would also not begrudge Raoul if he was still angry about what had happened in the Populaire. Erik did kill people and the fact that he escaped justice was just something he would understandably be angry by.

Taking her shoes in hand, Meg made her way back home, her mind still buzzing with the thoughts of running across her best friend. How was Christine? Knowing Raoul, he would be treating her as best he could. He was a good man. But a part of Meg just wanted to see her to affirm for herself that Christine was alright. As she pushed the door open, Meg was surprised to have been swiftly pulled in by Erik who looked to be crazed in concern for her.

‘Erik, wha-’

‘Where have you been?’ Her husband hissed at her, his brows creasing in worry as he looked her up and down.

Confusion marred the blonde’s face and she shook her head. ‘Erik, you know I’d be only gone for an hour at the most.’ Meg said gently.

‘An _hour_?’ Erik repeated, his voice disbelieving. ‘Marguerite, it’s been three!’

Meg looked at her husband in shock and she shook her head. That can’t be. She normally had a good handle on time. 

‘Three hours?’ Meg asked. Erik nodded, his jaw was tense and Meg could only guess the state she had put her mother in. ‘Is Mama alright?’ She asked quietly.

‘She is fine, Hasan had taken her away for the day so they could buy groceries.’ Erik said gruffly, letting her go. ‘What kept you so long there?’ He asked, Meg noticed the harsh bite in his words and yet she wasn’t scared. ‘I was worried that something might have happened to you.’ He said at last, his voice hushed.

As if realising that Erik was upset about her wellbeing for the first time, Meg worried her bottom lip before she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling at him.

‘I’m sorry for that.’ She said quietly. ‘I suppose I was just worried about…’ Remembering the subject of her worries, Meg halted.

And yet, it was as if Erik had seen through her and he looked at her blankly.

‘Marguerite, you had told me that I must learn to let go of Christine.’ His words were halting and she could still see how difficult it was for him to say her name.

And yet he did.

Meeting her gaze with a fierceness that she knew him to possess, Erik held her by the shoulders and ensured to it she met his gaze.

‘I fully intend to do as you had advised.’

Meg swallowed past the emotion that had built up within her and she nodded, muted by the firmness of the Phantom’s voice. She knew him to try and keep his word. At least to her. She did not know how well he had done it before, but he was trying now. Satisfied by Meg’s reaction, Erik nodded and herded her off to the kitchen where he served her tea and gave her bread that they had baked the day prior, telling her he would have toasted it had he been privy to her usual schedule of swimming.

He did not mention Christine that day.

Or the next.

And whenever Meg looked at her husband, his melancholic looks were not as common as they once were. He would meet her gaze and a smile would grace his lips as they strolled through the beach, hand in hand.

‘I was thinking the performance hall could be built near here.’ Erik said, gesturing to where he had told her the beginning of the game stalls would be. ‘It should be large enough to admit at least a hundred people and I have full intentions of producing some ballets for the opening performances.’

Meg looked at the buildings that were slowly coming to life before them and she smiled faintly at the thought. 

‘I can invite some singers every now and again, but I was thinking that ballet could be focused upon more. Some lively, some sombre.’

‘Like Giselle.’ Meg suggested.

Erik chuckled.

‘And perhaps a happy one.’ He added, looking at Meg with an expression the blonde could not place. ‘A love story that could be hopeful in every way.’

Squeezing Erik’s hand in hers, Meg nodded. ‘I think...I think that idea would be lovely.’ She said, her voice hushed.

Erik said nothing in response and returned his gaze to Phantasma.

In only a few more months, they might be able to open soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY AN UPDATE!! And it's the sort of update that has Erik finally deciding to let go. But we do have Meg thinking over her worries because as Hélène Giry had said, her daughter was not made of sunlight. She still has her bad days that's fortunately brightened by Erik.
> 
> Hope you guys liked this chapter! Please don't hesitate to comment, it always motivates me!!


	23. Lines Depicting Simple Happiness

_The shine on her buckle took precedence in sun_   
_Her shine, I should say, could take me anywhere_   
_It feels right to be up this close in tight wind_   
_It feels right to notice all the shiny things about you_   
_About you there is nothing I wouldn’t want to know_   
_With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler_   
_About you many good things come into relation_   
_I think of proofs and grammar, vowel sounds, like_   
_A is for knee socks, E for panties_   
_I is for buttondown, O the blouse you wear_   
_U is for hair clip, and Y your tight skirt_   
_The music picks up again, I am the man I hope to be_   
_The bright air hangs freely near your newly cut hair_   
_It is so easy now to see gravity at work in your face_   
_Easy to understand time, that dark process_   
_To accept it as a beautiful process, your face_

**-Lines Depicting Simple Happiness, Peter Gizzi**

* * *

Erik carefully adjusted his tie, lips pursed as he eyed himself critically in the mirror.

‘Erik? Are you ready?’ Meg called out from the doorway to their room.

Erk turned to face his wife, her hair had been arranged in a way that both suited the era and defied it. He never had much skills in learning the fashion of things but he knew his wife to be the sort to be able to incorporate both the current trends and the fashion she herself preferred. And looking at her now, Erik felt a smile grace his lips at the sight. Flowers had been braided into her hair, not a ghastly amount but most were small and looking closely at the flowers, Erik chuckled. Baby’s breath.

As if noticing his attention to her, Meg blushed once more. Erik chuckled.

‘Meg, you look lovely.’ He told her reassuringly as he shrugged on his coat. ‘Is everyone at the site?’ He asked, allowing the blonde to adjust his bowtie.

Meg nodded.

Offering her his arm, Erik and Meg walked down the stairs and out of the house.

* * *

The past months were uneventful. At least, in the big ways an uneventful thing would be. But in the little things? Those little things he knew his wife loved so much? Erik liked to think that they were quite eventful in every way. 

Erik, for one, learned that Meg could be quite persuasive if she so wanted. He had been successfully roped into joining their employees in building the last of their homes and he was subjected to Meg’s tinkling laughter as they worked.

Meg had surprised him when she joined some of the menfolk in fishing just for the sheer curiosity of it. He knew they did not protest simply due to the fact that she was married to the man that was hiring them, but when Erik checked in on them later, he found himself relieved to see Meg and the men getting along quite well. One of them had even been kind enough to give her a guideline on fishing which she had apparently scribbled down.

Baker visited them during one of Meg’s duller days where she was missing home. To Erik’s surprise, his investor had brought flowers for both of them, insisting that he wished to show them his support. When he learned of Meg’s melancholic state, the older gentleman proceeded to approach Meg and speak to her of business and nonsensical things alike. When she finally peeped a smile at him, Baker brought Meg over to Erik and suggested the two at least spend a day in town together. Walk through gardens and parks, enjoy each other’s company.

They did not go into town.

But their walk through the beach that ended with Erik begrudgingly going into the water with his trouser legs rolled up sufficed just fine.

After all, Meg was laughing by then.

Erik ventured back into baking. With great hesitance. He learned that Meg’s birthday was coming up and though Hélène had told him that the blonde was not one for large celebrations, he wanted to surprise her with something at least. So he baked bread like the first time she had taught him. It only came out slightly burned.

He may or may not have found a way to get Hasan to cook something as well. 

He had not seen someone look so delightedly surprised by something he had done in all his life. Though he knew that was due to his less than savoury actions along with his repulsive appearance. Honestly, he was still constantly surprised every time he and Meg had lain together the same way a man and wife would.

All throughout, Erik had not thought of Christine or that when he did, it was but a passing thing. A quick memory of her chocolate curls, her voice coming to him in his dream quickly replaced by a gently spoken one in his waking world or a reminder of her debut into the world of opera. 

But as time went on, he did as he had promised his wife.

He began letting go.

Like how one pries fingers away from things not to be touched.

And for all that heartache, he would often find it disappeared by his wife who had something new to show him. Some new experience or an old one seen in a new light and he would be glad to join her in whatever experience it was.

Then there was the routine he had developed with Meg.

He had come to expect her swims and had even taken to arranging her change of clothes and setting up her towel in their room. He sometimes heats water for her to wash off the seawater but sometimes, there was not enough time for them in their schedule. They always took breakfast together while lunches could always depend on how busy Erik was. Dinner would be had with Hasan and Hélène and then Erik would work on his composing with Meg reading out the texts he had procured for her. (It started off with pamphlets but currently? She was reading fairytales and Erik praised her as her accent was a soft one that he knew people would find attractive and her pronunciation was  _ perfect _ .) And as always. When two a.m. struck, Erik would tune his violin, Meg would do his stretches and they would dance. Erik began trying out his current composition for their dance and Meg seemed to have taken to it like a duck to water.

Erik was surprised that church was not among their routine seeing as Hélène had always gone to church ever since they had come to America. But the more he thought of it, the more he figured that Meg might not have been the religious sort. When he asked, Meg smiled and shrugged her shoulders, hair wet still from the bath she took.

‘Papa and Mama had different views. I always took after Papa and Mama respected that.’ She explained as she struggled to comb through her golden curls.

And before Erik knew it, days and weeks blurred together until the last of their buildings had been built. A seaside hotel had been among the things he had constructed there and he had plans of moving his family - for there was no other way to call it if he were to apply Meg’s logic into this - into the penthouse. M. Baker had told him that he was free to claim the old man’s summer home but Erik protested and had thanked him instead. (Meg had told him his thanks was a halting, uncomfortably toned kind but that his stockholder did not take offence.)

And here they were now.

Hand in hand, walking towards the opening of Phantasma.

* * *

Hélène was the first to greet them upon their arrival to Phantasma. She had worn her best dress and had fussed over Meg when they had arrived. Erik chuckled at the sight before cursing as Hasan accosted him and tried to fix what his wife had already readjusted.

‘Daroga, what in hell’s name!’ He hissed, trying to lean back.

Hasan shot him a warning glare as he was made to stand straighter and he was inspected.

‘Erik, you forget what my placement among the nobility was.’ His old friend told him dryly. ‘I am merely ensuring that you look presentable for the people.’

Erik was about to retort how his mere presence would not be presentable to the public when Meg went over to his side, stood on the tips of her toes and planted a kiss on his bare cheek.

‘I think Erik looks fine as he is.’ His wife said firmly before taking his hand and leading him to where the ribbon would be at.

Along with a large throng of people.

He had opted for a theatrical mask for the opening, his excuse of it being a themed park where strangeness, mystery and fantasy came to life - without the use of freaks - cloaked his actual need for a mask. He had designed his mask to resemble the moon in some ways, though he was surprised to see how the rest of his group had taken the idea. 

Meg had put flowers in her hair - which she had told him was her attempt at a dryad - Hasan had worn his more formal, traditional attire and even Hélène had put in a pearl brooch looking to be made by an unpracticed hand as their own way of showing their attempts to join in with the theme.

Grasping M. Baker’s held out hand, Erik smiled at the friendly old man who pulled him in for an embrace. An action he did not expect. Instead, he stiffened before he patted his back.

‘Well, boy, after all this hard work, here you are now.’ Baker told him, his ruddy cheeks burning with pride. ‘Top of the world.’

‘Not yet.’ Erik replied easily, accepting the scissors from Baker’s hand. ‘We are only beginning, we must see how this plays out before there will be any conquering.’

Baker laughed and shook his head. ‘Well, I could help pave the way for that success, my boy.’ He said earnestly.

Erik hummed in absentminded agreement as he cut the ribbon and turned to face the camera with his investors at his left side - Baker was the closest to him - and his family at his right. As expected, his wife was closest.

The flash left him stunned for a moment but Meg had guided him off the podium and their first day began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update!! And yes, Erik is feeling things but he is quite dense. Just let him figure it out on his own time. But hey, M. Baker's got a plan to help Phantasma get more attention! Wonder what that could be? Maybe something fancy? Who knows! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and please feel free to comment as it helps keep me motivated!


	24. To My Dear and Loving Husband

_If ever two were one, then surely we._   
_If ever man were loved by wife, then thee._   
_If ever wife was happy in a man,_   
_Compare with me, ye women, if you can._   
_I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,_   
_Or all the riches that the East doth hold._   
_My love is such that rivers cannot quench,_   
_Nor ought but love from thee give recompense._   
_Thy love is such I can no way repay;_   
_The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray._   
_Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,_   
_That when we live no more, we may live ever._

**-To My Dear and Loving Husband, Anne Bradstreet**

* * *

It was the Sunday after they had opened Phantasma when M. Baker’s assurance of his help came to pass.

Or its very beginning.

Meg and Erik were just seated together, one composing, the other reading when there was a knock on the door. It was their last month in M. Baker’s home before Erik, Meg, her mother and M. Azadi moved to the hotel.

Exchanging glances, Meg made to rise when Erik patted her knee before he rose and answered the door. Meg smiled in thanks before returning to the fairytale she was reading. Erik had apparently translated it by his own hands and had put it together for her, wanting her to get used to more formal terminology. Though she still felt unsure if what she was doing was right, he had not told her if she was doing anything wrong yet.

‘Meg?’ Erik called out from the hallway. ‘You may want to come here.’

Looking up from the tale, Meg pressed her lips together before looking at the paragraph she had ended at and tried to memorise where it was she had stopped before going to her husband. 

Who was standing at the now closed door, his brows knitted together as he looked at the opened letter with the intensity of one wishing to set it on fire.

‘Erik?’ Meg started, worry seeping into her voice as she approached the phantom. ‘What is it?’ Perhaps it was a note from someone in France, someone who knew their past, someone who might have been present for the opening of Phantasma.

Was Raoul there? No, he and Christine had left America after two weeks since they had plans to go to Germany. She’d read it in the papers.

Wordlessly, Erik passed the letter to her and she took it, trying to quell the worry that was growing into deep anxiety for the blonde.

Only for it to dissipate the moment she read the letter.

_ Dearest Erik and Meg Giry, _

_ I am writing formally to you to expect an invitation around the following day. I had assured you, Erik, that I shall help pave the way to your rise as a businessman and I fully intend to stand by that promise. You see, every year my family has a tradition of holding a grand party around the 31st day of October. Some find that to be an odd tradition of mine but my daughter and son-in-law had grown quite fond of that even in their childhoods so I shall not be stopping this tradition. _

_ Now, to end my further ramblings, that invitation shall just be a formality as you are and always will be invited to any Baker family events and we would be glad to have you and your lovely parents along for this! Know that this year, we are having a masquerade and we highly encourage creativity so, please let your imagination run wild! _

_ Respectfully yours, _

_ Mr. Abram Joshua Baker _ _   
_ _ Friend and Ally _

Looking up from the letter, Meg met Erik’s frowning face and she raised her brows at her husband.

‘What do you think of this, Erik?’ She asked gently. 

‘I do not understand why he would invite us.’ He confessed simply as he strode past Meg and into the sitting room where he snatched up his compositions, clearly pretending to study them.

Meg followed him at a more sedate pace, watching as her husband sat back down on the settee, his focus drawn to his music once more. Seating herself beside him, Meg looked at the invitation before setting it down on the coffee table before them.

‘Is it because you have no desire to go to an event with several people there?’ She coaxed gently.

Erik met her gaze and shook his head. 

‘The way he had written the letter was personal.’ He said simply, gesturing to the paper that laid innocently on the dark wooden tabletop. ‘As if  _ he  _ wished for us to be there.’

‘He did say that this is to help.’ Meg replied, taking hold of her husband’s hand and squeezing it. ‘Perhaps we should take it.’

Erik met her gaze before looking at his composition once more.

‘Perhaps.’ He repeated. His expression was pensive and Meg could see the cogs whirling through his mind before looking at Meg. ‘What about you?’ He asked. ‘Would you want to go?’

Meg was silent for a moment and she thought over what she felt before looking at her husband. She knew he was more keen on their privacy and preferred solace and silence over being surrounded by people who might speak about subjects that he might find uninteresting. But she knew that they would need this if Erik’s plans of success were to be fulfilled.

‘Would you be able to handle the crowds of people?’ Meg replied, her gaze searching for a clue within his golden eyes.

Erik nodded.

‘I would find no difficulty in socialising.’ He told her, his tone was even and betrayed nothing tot he blonde who still felt her worry deep within her. ‘In a masked setting, I can be anyone I desire and none would be the wiser.’

‘Then it’s settled?’ Meg asked.

‘We will have to arrange for costumes to be made for all of us.’ Erik said with a slight huff. ‘I had seen how Hasan behaved with tailors and I worry for them.’ He muttered.

Meg smiled in amusement at the thought of the Persian being anything but a charming man to anyone. She highly doubted he would be any worse than Erik who seemed to prefer being in control most, if not all, of the time. 

‘I could just use my old costume from before.’ She said softly with a shrug. 

‘The suit?’ Erik asked dubiously. Meg tried to stop her smile from widening at the sight of her husband’s nose wrinkling. ‘It is good, but I could tell those are the scraps of old costumes that you had pieced together.’

‘And no one would know.’ Meg replied with a shrug. ‘I’ve a fair hand to sewing and Mama could barely even tell they were from salvaged scraps.’

Still, Erik shook his head and looked at Meg with an expression she learned was his warning not to argue with her. She knew he would not strike her but she also knew him to have a way to insist on what he was thinking. Still, she found herself against the idea of spending any more money on a dress.

‘Mama also still has her masquerade gown and I think I could add some modifications to it to make it look a bit different.’ She added in thought.

‘And leave me and Daroga to suffer?’ Erik retorted in mock hurt. ‘Marguerite, I thought you cared for me better than that!’ He said, clasping a hand over his chest causing the blonde to let out a laugh.

‘Yes, well, I don’t have your Red Death costume, Erik.’ She replied, trying to sound prim only for her fondness to seep through.

Erik chuckled and pulled her close. ‘Still, it would ease my heart if you at least bought a new dress for the occasion.’ He insisted, eyes shining. ‘Never mind commissioning a new one, just buy one along with a mask.’

Meg sighed and shook her head. There was no winning with him. Kissing his cheek, Meg nodded. ‘But you and Hasan must steal everyone’s attentions.’

‘So be it.’ Erik replied, his gaze soft with an emotion that hurt Meg’s heart more than his hatred would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik is continuing to feel things without knowing it, Meg pines and a masquerade's in place! Question is, will this be where the Sylph dress comes in or is it already bought? I hope you guys enjoyed this and please don't hesitate to comment! Your support motivates me!


	25. The Stick-Together Families

_The stick-together families are happier by far_  
_Than the brothers and the sisters who take separate highways are._  
_The gladdest people living are the wholesome folks who make_  
_A circle at the fireside that no power but death can break._  
_And the finest of conventions ever held beneath the sun_  
_Are the little family gatherings when the busy day is done._  
  
_There are rich folk, there are poor folk, who imagine they are wise,_  
_And they're very quick to shatter all the little family ties._  
_Each goes searching after pleasure in his own selected way,_  
_Each with strangers likes to wander, and with strangers likes to play._  
_But it's bitterness they harvest, and it's empty joy they find,_  
_For the children that are wisest are the stick-together kind._  
  
_There are some who seem to fancy that for gladness they must roam,_  
_That for smiles that are the brightest they must wander far from home._  
_That the strange friend is the true friend, and they travel far astray_  
_they waste their lives in striving for a joy that's far away,_  
_But the gladdest sort of people, when the busy day is done,_  
_Are the brothers and the sisters who together share their fun._  
  
_It's the stick-together family that wins the joys of earth,_  
_That hears the sweetest music and that finds the finest mirth;_  
_It's the old home roof that shelters all the charm that life can give;_  
_There you find the gladdest play-ground, there the happiest spot to live._  
_And, O weary, wandering brother, if contentment you would win,_  
_Come you back unto the fireside and be comrade with your kin._  
  
**-The Stick-Together Families, Edgar Albert Guest**

* * *

Erik had given Meg enough money to buy new gowns for her and her mother and though he saw unsurety in her slate eyes, Erik still smiled as reassuringly as he could at his wife and closed her fingers around the notes before he went to Hasan and told him of the day’s developments.

Hasan, as he expected, tried to get out of getting new clothes tailored for him.

‘I have my formal attire, Erik, it would be unneeded.’ The Persian responded, taking out a book from M. Baker’s expansive bookshelf, flipping to a random page Erik knew his old friend would not even be reading. ‘You go on and get yourself fitted.’

Erik scoffed. ‘I shall be making my own clothes, Daroga.’ He replied without ceremony. He had promised Meg that they would steal the attention of all, he knew that no simple cutter, tailor or seamstress would have the skills he required for the garbs he had in mind.

Hasan looked at him with narrowed eyes before he returned his false attentions to the book in his hand.

‘Then I would have no more worries about costuming and the like.’ Hasan muttered, flipping to the next page idly where the illustration of surgical instruments were shown. ‘If my cousin alone cannot force me to stay still for my measurements and to discuss colours that might suit me or insult me, what makes you think you would have more power than the Shah to make me do those?’ 

Erik smiled. It was not his manic, dangerous smiles that he knew the Persian to have grown wary of in their long friendship. No, he smiled the way a lazy cat would, knowing the mouse had nowhere else to run and that it was just biding its time before he leapt in and smote it.

‘Because I promised Marguerite you and I would have attention-stealing costumes as she cares enough about us to want all to have good impressions about you and I.’ He drawled, walking away.

He heard the silent curse from Hasan, said in his mothertongue, followed by a prayer. Footsteps approached him and he turned to face his old friend who eyed him with that same expression he had seen back in Persia’s court whenever a gala was announced and Hasan was told by his cousin that new clothes were to be commissioned.

‘I only trust you to be the one to make my garments.’ He told Erik, his dark eyes daring the phantom to decline.

Erik only bowed his head in acquiescence. It was for Meg after all.

* * *

Meg had taken her mother out to the shops that day. 

Erik had told her to look for clothes that would be suitable for such an occasion and she knew her mother would insist on something black as she had always worn. Her Mama had already stopped wearing her livelier colours after her Papa’s passing and Meg wanted to try and see if she could find a way to return even just a hint of it.

So, they were strolling through the shops with Meg trying to peek through the windows to see if she could see anything that might suit her mother.

‘And what of you? What will you wear?’ Her Mama asked, holding onto her arm as they passed another shop that Meg felt was lacking in what she sought. ‘Perhaps it is now time for you to dress yourself as the Sylph Queen?’ The older woman suggested, her dark red lips curving into a smile. ‘You would no longer be giving yourself airs if you are a businessman’s wife?’ 

Meg met her mother’s gaze and she felt anxiety coil in her belly. She did not regret selling it - even if she did, she consoled herself with the knowledge that it will be for the good of the family - and yet the thought of telling her mother what she had done had always made her worry.

‘Meg?’ He mother pressed, her voice gentle and patient with her as it always was. ‘What do you think?’

‘I-I sold it, Mama.’ She said softly, her lips pressing together the moment the words had left her mouth. She watched as her mother’s eyes widened, realisation sinking into her elegant face, lips thinning into a straight line as she processed her words.

A decisive glint shone in her coal-black eyes.

‘Where did you sell the dress?’ Her mother asked calmly.

Nervously, Meg told her.

Before the blonde could understand what her mother had in mind, the older woman began marching the two of them towards the shop she had been several months ago when she had given up her heart’s work for a pittance of its worth.

* * *

The moment Hélène and Meg had walked into the shop, the older woman immediately saw Meg’s masterpiece. And knew that it was lost to them already.

A woman with blazing ginger hair and aquamarine eyes stood before a mirror, turning this way and that, a girlish smile on her face as she did so was wearing the gown her daughter had laboured over. The crown of golden laurels that deft fingers had tirelessly twisted and sculpted had been put into her wild waves and the wings of sparkling gold that Hélène knew to have been sewn in candlelight was strapped to the gown.

The mother pressed her lips and looked at Meg.

Meg was looking at the young woman who looked only a year or two older than her with a small smile that held a bit of wistfulness in her.

‘She looks so pretty in that, Mama.’ Meg commented, her voice hushed. ‘Come, let’s leave her be.’ She said as she tried to pull Hélène away from the young lady and the shop as a whole.

However, just as Hélène was turning around to follow her daughter, she caught the young lady’s words to the shop’s owner.

‘Now, don’t lie to me Miss Johanna, I know this isn’t your handiwork.’ She said chidingly, ‘I know your work and this is more fantastic than your daily wear  _ and _ formal wear!’

Clenching her jaw, the dark-haired woman reached out and stopped Meg. Motioning for her daughter to stay put, Hélène strode towards the young woman who was speaking to the shop owner who was babbling out explanations and excuses that Hélène had no patience for.

‘Excuse me, Mademoiselle.’ She called out, tapping the ginger-haired girl’s shoulder. ‘That is my daughter’s handiwork.’ She replied bluntly, gesturing to Meg who shifted awkwardly at the doorway.

Smiling thinly at the shop owner, Johanna, Hélène took vicious satisfaction as the woman spluttered out explanations how their deal meant that Meg was to get no credit for her own creation.

‘That is an awful deal, Miss Johanna!’ The ginger cried out before taking out several notes and giving it to the shop owner. ‘I’m only buying this to be fair, but I will also pay your daughter.’ She told Hélène before going over to Meg with a friendly smile, her hand held out to her.

‘I was wondering, would you be amenable to some additions to the gown?’ She asked eagerly. ‘It’s a perfect gown already but my husband has designs of being a forest king and I wanted to try and match the grandeur of his costume. You will be handsomely compensated, of course.’ She explained.

As if forgetting the fact that the gown was once hers, Meg smiled and nodded. ‘Alright, I would love to hear your ideas.’ She said brightly as the blonde took the ginger girl’s hand and shook it. ‘It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Madame.’

Giggling, the ginger shrugged. ‘I’m Loretta Thatcher née Baker.’

Realisation dawned in Meg’s eyes and her smile lost the wistfulness it held. ‘I am Célestine Marguerite Giry.’ She replied with that same easy tone she had used to introduce herself to Christine once in those many years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first time I'd done a double update but hey, I'm just really hyped today and we're at least getting closer bit by bit to a certain moment we're all waiting for. 
> 
> Unfortunately, the Sylph Queen is no longer Meg, but the bright side is that she has a friend now! So, you know..silver linings? As always, your support and your comments motivate me!!


	26. A Friend

_A person who will listen and not condemn_  
_Someone on whom you can depend_  
_They will not flee when bad times are here_  
_Instead they will be there to lend an ear_  
_They will think of ways to make you smile_  
_So you can be happy for a while_  
_When times are good and happy there after_  
_They will be there to share the laughter_  
_Do not forget your friends at all_  
_For they pick you up when you fall_  
_Do not expect to just take and hold_  
_Give friendship back, it is pure gold._

**-A Friend, Gillian Jones**

* * *

‘You made this for a masquerade?’ Loretta asked as she seated herself beside Meg who had been sketching the additional details to be added to the gown.

Meg hummed in affirmation, giving a shy smile to the ginger woman.

‘You must have looked stunning.’ Loretta commented, sighing dreamily. ‘With your hair and the simplicity of the gown, you’d have looked like an angel.’

Then, as if realisation dawned on her, Loretta sat up and looked at Meg.

‘Is that what the gown is? An angel gown?’ She asked, her eyes shining with eagerness.

Meg held back from laughing at how excited she seemed to be. Instead, she shook her head and set down the paper and pencil she had been drawing on for the better part of an hour.

‘It’s a Sylph Queen’s gown.’ She explained softly. ‘Based off of my father’s bedtime stories for me.’

‘Oh?’ The slightly older woman tilted her head, her ginger hair falling over her face in the movement. ‘What fairytale would that be?’ She asked.

Meg looked at Loretta and for a moment, she thought of the night her father had told her the story of the Sylph Queen and the Moon Knight, two people who had been constantly separated by station and kingdom, choosing mortality over eternity for the sake of love. She could remember candlelight painting her father’s face, deft fingers running through her curls, eerily pale blue eyes shining with warmth that many take for granted, lips curved in a smile that seemed to never dim.

‘Papa always had a different story.’ She answered, voice hushed. ‘I did not grow up to normal fairytales.’ 

‘That must have been exciting.’ Loretta commented. ‘My father would get translators to translate foreign stories to amuse me as a child but your father sounds more exciting.’

‘Papa was always a bit different.’ The blonde said.

‘That must mean that this gown means a lot to you.’ Loretta continued, her tone hesitant. ‘Perhaps I should-’

Immediately, Meg shook her head, her lips pressing together into a thin line. She didn’t like to take things bought fairly. Besides, she liked how the dress looked on Loretta. There were plenty of other dresses and she knew full well she might find one suitable for her. 

‘Keep it.’ Meg told her new friend, taking Loretta’s hand in both of hers. ‘It’s just a dress, I can find another.’

‘But what will you wear?’ Loretta asked, her brows creased in worry. ‘I can’t take away a costume if it leaves you to buy a drab dress and a mask!’

Meg shrugged, amused at her friend’s dilemma. ‘I don’t mind being in a drab dress and a mask, I just want to go there and see how everyone else would dress up.’ She said with a slight giggle.

Loretta huffed and stood up. ‘Well, seeing as you are obstinate, then why not make another costume?’ She said, her brows raising at Meg. ‘Surely your Papa would have told you many other stories?’

Meg nodded. ‘Papa tells me a lot of stories and it’s always hard to forget them.’ She said with a small smile. ‘Why are you asking?’

‘Because I want to fund your costume.’ Loretta said with an air of finality. ‘You can make your own costume with the same inspiration - from your father - and you could even make your mother’s gown.’

Meg spluttered and for once, her serene front was broken. Looking at her mother, Meg waited to see what her Mama had to say about it, but it appeared that even her unflappable mother seemed to have been taken aback by Loretta’s words.

‘Mademoiselle, we cannot-’

‘Of course you can.’ Loretta interrupted Hélène. ‘Please let me do this for you both.’ She insisted. ‘Papa got to help your husband, let me help you.’ The ginger told Meg, her eyes earnest.

Meg faltered. She was not declining out of pride or spite, but it just felt awkward to accept the help of one who she had only met in the first day. Biting her lip, Meg pleated the fabric of her skirt as she tried to weigh the responses she was thinking.

‘At least think of the surprise your husband would get when he sees you.’ Loretta threw in with a playful grin. ‘If I’d had a talent for sewing then my Freddy would be slack-jawed by my costume if I had any say in this.’

Meg blushed.

‘I mean...Erik would not mind.’ She mumbled. ‘But it would not be anything surprising or jaw-dropping for him, I’m sure.’ She added quickly.

Loretta raised a brow at the blonde and Meg gave an unsure smile at the ginger woman. ‘You seem to underestimate the amount of care your husband has for you then.’ Loretta proclaimed. ‘Now you  _ definitely _ have to make a costume just so you could see how horribly wrong you are!’

‘I highly doubt I’m wrong in knowing how my husband thinks, Madame Loretta.’ Meg answered wryly.

The ginger woman just rolled her eyes and smirked. ‘Then accept my challenge.’ She said simply. ‘And please, call me Lori.’

Meg looked at her mother who only raised her eyebrow at her. She knew the unspoken question hanging in the air between them but she pretended not to see it. After all, pretending she felt only friendship towards her husband for the sake of her mother not finding out was something Meg had been learning to master bit by bit.

Grasping Loretta’s outheld hand, Meg shook it.

‘Alright.’

She had only agreed to the challenge simply for the fact that she wanted to humour her new friend. Though Meg found herself wondering as well, would Erik even react to a different gown?

She highly doubted it. She wasn’t anything too special.

But they would dance and Erik might make a comment or two about the costume, as a friend, and they would leave before the night ended its celebrations because Meg always knew him to like their routines.

And that was enough for her.

* * *

Loretta took a cab with Meg and her mother back to the seaside home her Papa had gifted the couple. (He did say that a family cannot be raised in a hotel and she wholeheartedly agreed. Perhaps they could get another house built eventually so that she could visit Meg more often?) The ginger’s excuse for riding with them was because she wanted to see the wonderful amusement park that Meg’s husband had formed but her other reason was to tell him of the challenge. Just to see if he would be eager to see it.

Her Freddy had always warned her of her meddling, but she felt that it would be for her new friend’s best interest to learn to trust that her husband saw her in a different light than what she felt the world saw her as.

Stepping down from the cab, Loretta helped the older woman off before taking Meg by the hand and practically running with the blonde into what she used to see as a vacation home. Stepping inside, Loretta smiled. It was the same but it was also different now. Furniture had been moved about, some new framed sketches had been put on the walls - the faces of the occupants of the house, she noted - there were more flowers decorating the house as well and the books were rearranged on the shelves.

‘You’re turning this into a proper home.’ She remarked, running a dainty hand over the frame of a sketch that showed her new friend reading. ‘This sketch is lovely.’ She added, looking at all the details. Even the sunlight looked so well done for something that was only done with a pencil.

‘That’s Monsieur Azadi’s work.’ Meg explained with a smile clear in her voice.

Loretta nodded. ‘That is your husband’s father, right?’ She asked.

‘No, Hasan is just a friend.’ Meg replied, her voice hushed.

Loretta turned to look at Meg before she gently placed a hand on Meg’s arm, the blonde having turned to hugging herself while looking at the portrait.

‘My family doesn’t judge.’ She said softly. ‘If Mister Azadi is the one that raised your husband then to us, he is his father.’

Loretta always did find the subject of many things silly. To her, family is never tied with blood. Family was tied by the bonds you had forged, the love you had wrought, the care you have shown. It was never about whose eyes you bear and whose flesh you inherited. At the end of the day, if you love someone enough that you know you would die for them, they were family.

Meg didn’t reply to her and Loretta didn’t expect her to.

Even those in her own country had their problems.

Instead, the ginger asked if her friend’s husband was home so she could ask after the business in her father’s stead. Meg thankfully didn’t grow suspicious of her and directed her to the second-floor office.

‘Be careful,’ Meg warned, ‘Erik is composing music right now and he sometimes gets lost in it.’

Loretta assured Meg that she will be careful and proceeded to go up the stairs with the excitement of a schoolgirl.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we get Loretta being good friend with Meg. By that, I mean she's now pushing for Meg to make herself a new costume with full confidence that Erik would be blown away! Also, pictured above is Meg in an AU where she wears the Sylph Queen's gown~
> 
> As always, comments are very appreciated and they always help motivate me!


	27. Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!

_Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!_  
_I will not ask a dearer bliss;_  
_Come with the starry beams, my love,_  
_And press mine eyelids with thy kiss._  
_’Twas thus, as ancient fables tell,_  
_Love visited a Grecian maid,_  
_Till she disturbed the sacred spell,_  
_And woke to find her hopes betrayed._

_But gentle sleep shall veil my sight,_  
_And Psyche’s lamp shall darkling be,_  
_When, in the visions of the night,_  
_Thou dost renew thy vows to me._

_Then come to me in dreams, my love,_  
_I will not ask a dearer bliss;_  
_Come with the starry beams, my love,_  
_And press mine eyelids with thy kiss._

**-Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley**

* * *

Erik had been designing his costume when there was a knock at the door. He absently called out permission for entry, being more concerned about the colours he had used.

‘That looks nothing like a composition.’ A feminine voice commented. He stiffened. It was nothing like Meg’s soft voice, nor Hélène’s stern one. Looking up, he was met by a young lady with flaming hair and eyes that lit up with amusement.

‘Loretta.’ She introduced herself, holding out her hand to him. ‘I’m Abram Baker’s daughter.’

Erik nodded, shaking her hand. He could see the family resemblance but still, he found himself taking a defensive stance towards the young woman as she looked at his papers on the desk.

‘Is this your costume?’ She asked delightedly. ‘It looks like your version of the devil.’

‘A fallen angel, actually.’ He replied, taking the design and putting it inside a drawer, his eyes narrowed. ‘What brings you here, Mademoiselle? If it is to inspect the house-’

‘Oh no, I would never.’ The girl replied, waving away his words. ‘Papa told me the house was yours and we agreed it’s for the best. This needs to be a home rather than just some glorified museum to old memories.’ 

‘Then what-’

‘I bought this amazing gown called the Sylph Queen at Miss Johanna’s store in town earlier this day.’ The ginger interrupted him once more, causing Erik to frown at her. ‘Turns out, that gown was meant to be worn by your wife at a previous masquerade but she won’t let me give it back even if the story behind its creation was deeply personal.’

Erik shot a glance at the door. He recalled a moment when he caught Meg out in town while she was looking for a job. She told him she had sold something. Erik clenched his jaw and tried to think of what he could tell the daughter of his investor. She had bought something deeply valuable to Meg and he didn’t know how to fix this.

‘Though we came to an agreement,’ She continued obliviously. ‘She will make her own costume at my funding.’

‘Does your husband approve of this?’ Erik asked.

‘Freddy doesn’t need to approve of anything.’ The young lady replied with a slight laugh. ‘I’m just telling you this because if your wife could produce something like this-’ at that, she handed him a sheet of paper, a smug smile on her face. ‘-then think of what else she would be capable of.’

Erik cast a look at the paper and for a moment, he was certain breath had left him. It was a detailed sketch with swatches of colour there. Yellow coloured the wings and what appeared to be a crown of laurels that resembled a halo around the model, the wings were gold as well and when he looked at how the gown was shaded, the opera ghost figured the rest of the gown was silver with gold accents. There were notes at the bottom but he felt that these were meant to be modifications.

‘Stunning, isn’t it?’ Loretta asked with a smugness to her voice. Taking back the sheet of paper, she smiled at Erik. ‘Best keep on your toes now, your wife if quite a creative soul.’ 

All Erik could manage was a slight nod before waving her out of his study.

* * *

Erik only left his study when Meg came to collect him for dinner. He had been carefully designing the costume and modifying it into something more suitable for something that Meg might create. There was a part of him that was well aware that anything he designed, his wife would be happy with but he also felt that it would be good for everyone to see them match somewhat in the costumes they shall wear.

‘You sold a gown.’ He told her as she stepped into his study.

Meg looked surprised for only a moment before she sighed and approached him, seating herself in front of the desk where some chairs had been placed.

‘I don’t regret that decision, Erik.’ She said simply.

‘And I do not expect you to.’ He replied, a smile making its way to his lips. ‘I think you had made your point clear and I have learned that you will not be swayed in matters like that.’

Meg smiled and looked down, fussing over her skirt.

‘Though I am wondering what costume you have in mind.’ He said casually as he took his design and hid it in his drawer. ‘The gown Madame Thatcher had bought from you looked to have been perfect.’

‘It would have been.’ She said softly. ‘Could have been.’ With a small smile, the blonde shook her head. ‘But I’m quite glad she has it now. I think she would look lovely in it.’

‘When did you have time to make that gown?’ It was asked out of genuine curiosity. He tried to recount all the moments he had let her be when they were still new to America and found himself finding a severe lack of moments where Meg might have found the time to make a gown like that. Much less where she had the supplies.

Looking at the ballerina, he noticed how she was blushing and keeping her eyes averted from him.

‘I made it when the masquerade was announced.’ She mumbled. ‘The one you had invaded to announce Don Juan?’

Confusion marred his features. ‘But you wore the purple suit.’ He replied, his brows knitting together. ‘Would it not have been more suitable to wear a gown fitting for the occasion?’

‘Erik, I was a ballet rat.’ Meg said, her expression a bit more self-deprecating than the opera ghost liked. ‘I was not about to give myself airs just because I made a gown.’

Though he did not speak, Erik found himself disagreeing with his wife’s reason for not wearing it. He pressed his lips together and nodded.

‘Fortunately, you will have another chance to make a new gown.’ He said, changing the subject. ‘Have you any ideas?’

Meg shook her head, looking unsure as she seemed to try and think of her options.

‘I want to think of what to make for Mama first before I focus on myself.’ She told him.

Erik chuckled before he stood up, offering his hand to Meg who took his proffered hand with a smile. As they walked out, Erik looked at Meg and wondered to himself-

Had Meg worn that gown she had sold back at that fateful masquerade, would she have outshone even the Star Princess that night?

* * *

That night, Erik dreamt for the first time in years.

It was the masquerade.

But he was merely one of the guests.

He was still in the Red Death’s costume he had made, but he was not skulking in the shadows. Instead, he was holding champagne, awkwardly listening to faceless dancers who he never cared for. In the middle of the room was Christine and he found himself expecting that lancing pain whenever he recalled her. 

Only to feel nothing.

Seeing her dance with the Vicomte with such joy on her face was no longer torture to him. It was no longer a death sentence to him and he could simply stay in this dream and watch the dance unfold.

Of course, that was when a large change happened.

 _“Dance with me?”_ A familiarly sweet voice greeted his ears and he turned his head.

His breath stopped.

It was Meg.

Only, she was not wearing her purple suit. She was dressed in the gown she had sold, her crown of golden laurels looking more like a halo than a crown, golden wings were strapped to her back, glittering under the chandelier’s sparkling light. Erik knew he would not know the sensation in a dream, but he was certain that his throat had gone dry at the sight.

 _“Mademoiselle Giry.”_ He greeted, inclining his head.

Meg only giggled and took both his hands in hers before leading him to the middle of the room as well.

 _“I think you know me enough to call me Meg, Erik.”_ She said playfully, placing one of his hands upon her waist and the other stayed held in her dainty hand. _“You married me, remember?”_ She added in that teasing manner he had grown fond of.

Erik looked at Christine who seemed to be trapped in her own world. Erik returned to looking at Meg and he smiled. His dearest friend and guide. The one who helped him change. He could not ask for anyone better than her.

 _“You have always been quite the dancer.”_ He told her as he spun her.

All too soon, he woke, only aware of Meg’s glittering dark eyes looking at him with that quiet smile she so often wore. When he looked to his bedside, he blew out a breath.

Meg was already out for her swim.

Another day had begun.

He shook off the rest of his confusing dream and proceeded to get a bath ready. 

Nothing was amiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we got Erik starting to maybe subconsciously realise a few things. Too bad he dense. But hey, he's trying!! Thanks so much for your continued support, I appreciate it so much and I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story! Your comments are all very appreciated and they had helped motivate me to continue writing the story to this day!!


	28. The Three Sorts of Friends

_Though friendships differ endless in degree ,_  
_The sorts , methinks, may be reduced to three._  
_Ac quaintance many, and Con quaintance few;_  
_But for In quaintance I know only two—_  
_The friend I've mourned with, and the maid I woo!_

**-The Three Sorts of Friends, Samuel Taylor Coleridge**

* * *

Loretta came to fetch Meg before she could invite Erik to have lunch with her. Now that Phantasma had opened and people were coming to either picnic, play at the stalls or look at its wonders, she had found herself being able to spend more time with Erik due to that. Though sometimes, Erik would walk around Phantasma to observe its goings on along with checking in on their employees along with the businesses that had set up within Phantasma like the different gaming stalls that had come to their park in hopes of starting their livelihoods.

‘I was thinking we could go to town today.’ Loretta proposed to her as Meg passed a plate of biscuits to the ginger who accepted the plate with a smile. 

‘Oh I wouldn’t know about that.’ Meg replied, her tone hesitant as she looked at the doorway leading to the entrance of their home before sighing. ‘Only, I like having lunches with Erik and I already missed him this morning.’

Loretta smiled at Meg in a manner that made the blonde blush when she realised what she had said. Ducking her head low, she held her teacup a bit tighter, praying her new friend wouldn’t tease her too badly for the way she spoke about her husband.

‘It’s so nice to see someone being so smitten with their husband.’ Loretta said at last, taking a sip of her tea before setting it down on the table. ‘But I think Erik could survive a day without you, right?’ The ginger added, batting her eyes at Meg who blushed even further.

‘I-’ Pausing in her words, Meg pressed her lips together before looking around. Her mother was with Hasan that day, wandering Phantasma’s music and performance hall to make sure everything was ready while Erik was overseeing the running of the park. ‘Maybe Erik wouldn’t mind.’ She said at last.

Surely, it was just Meg that found eating with him a comfort and not the other way around. They were simply friends and she didn’t want him to start suspecting she had fallen for him. Sighing, the blonde got up and began clearing up the tea things to put away for washing only for her friend to mirror her actions.

‘Oh, Loretta, no-’ Meg started.

Loretta gave her an unimpressed look before returning to the task at hand.

‘I remember I told you to call me Lori.’ She said casually. ‘And let me help, I’ll wash up and you go and get changed, alright?’

‘You’re a guest!’ Meg retorted, ‘Guests don’t do chores.’

‘I have a feeling you’d do the same if you were invited to dine with me and my family.’ Loretta replied easily, picking up the tray and making her way to the kitchen. ‘Now shoo, I want you changed because we have a lot to do for the day.’

Throwing her hands up in the air, Meg sighed and let the red-haired woman do as she pleased.

* * *

‘The Hall seems to be in order.’ Hasan informed Erik as he and Hélène flanked the Phantom during his walk through Phantasma. 

‘All that’s left is to decide on what to perform for the opening of the Hall.’ Hélène interjected, sharing a glance with the Persian.

‘I was thinking that we might be able to use Il Muto as an introduction.’ Hasan started, his tone brisk. ‘For the day performance at least, but for the evening, perhaps we can go for Hannibal or Faust, something darker and less light-’

‘The Hall will be opening with a ballet.’ Erik interrupted the Persian, his tone decisive. ‘An original composition that cannot be recreated by anyone.’

Hasan and Hélène stopped walking and exchanged glances with each other before the Persian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

‘I do not know if it is your hubris or a different entity altogether but Erik, Don Juan Triumphant alone took you-’

‘More or less six months to a year of crafting and polishing.’ Erik shot back, his golden eyes flashing. ‘What more with a ballet?’

‘Erik, you know nothing of the art!’ Hasan shot back before turning to face Hélène who was gazing at Erik with an unreadable expression. ‘Hélène, tell this boy he is meddling with something he had not even shown an inkling of interest in!’

Erik spluttered and narrowed his eyes at Hasan.

‘And to think I told Meg you were a friend of mine.’ He huffed out.

This time, Hasan spluttered.

‘Erik!’

‘Daroga!’

‘Enough.’ Hélène’s voice cut through their bickering easily and the raven-haired woman shot a warning glare at both of the men who seemed to wilt under her gaze. ‘Hasan, it is not your place to decide if Erik can or cannot compose.’ She chided.

Hasan muttered various things under his breath though it was undecipherable to the Frenchwoman even if Erik looked like he was ready to reply back in Hasan’s mothertongue.

‘And Erik,’ Hélène looked at her son-in-law and sighed. ‘Why a ballet? You were never the sort for these things before, what changed now?’

Erik paused and looked at his mother-in-law for a moment before he shrugged slightly.

‘I want Meg to be able to dance again.’ He told her, ‘Our nightly dances showed me what she was capable of and how much such small spaces for dancing restricts her gifts.’

Hélène looked at Erik for a long while before she nodded though there was something about the way the ballet instructor looked at the Phantom that made him think that she did not fully believe him.

* * *

It took Meg awhile to get changed but when she got down, Loretta was already at the stairwell with an excited smile on her lips.

‘Ready?’

Meg smiled unsurely and took Loretta’s hand that was held out to her. ‘As much as I can be.’ She replied.

She had penned a note for Erik, her mother and Hasan once they get home and she was about to set it on the hallway table pushed up against the wall when the door opened and her husband and mother’s voices filtered into the house.

Excusing herself to Loretta for a moment, Meg went to greet her husband with a quick embrace before doing the same with her mother. Meeting Erik’s inquiring gaze, Meg gave him an apologetic smile.

‘Loretta had invited me to go to town with her.’ She explained, gesturing to the fiery-haired woman waiting for her.

‘I insisted she come with me.’ Loretta added in with a mischievous smile. ‘You wouldn’t mind if I abduct your wife for the day, would you?’ She added.

For a moment, Meg thought she saw hesitation in Erik’s eyes when he looked at Meg for a few moments before he resumed the genial expression he had perfected all too well.

‘Have you eaten already?’ He asked, Meg tried to ignore the fact that a part of her immediately recognised the politeness masking his true feelings in his voice. ‘Only, I was thinking that we might be able to have lunch together today.’

Meg looked at Erik, her eyes wide and she could see him raising his brows slightly. He rarely made requests like these and she wanted to accept it. 

‘Sorry, Monsieur Giry.’ Loretta interrupted, taking Meg’s arm lightly. ‘Fabric shopping.’ She explained.

The hopeful light in Erik’s eyes dimmed a bit and Meg tried to tamp down the guilt in her at the sight. Erik nodded and smiled, kissing her forehead before stepping aside for them.

‘Shall I give you some capital?’ He asked, about to make for their bedroom.

‘No, no, I want to treat my new friend.’ Loretta replied easily, ushering Meg out of their home.

Meg tried not to look behind her, already trying to think of the best way to make it up to Erik. Feeling Loretta bump herself slightly against her side, the ginger smiled at Meg comfortingly.

‘Don’t worry, your Erik will forgive one day of not dining together.’ She told Meg softly. ‘I know Freddy does with me.’

Meg bit her lip and tried to stop herself from telling Loretta that Erik had never seemed to want to eat with her unless he wanted to apologise like he did when she stopped a thief during their journey to America, or to watch over her like when her homesickness settled deep within her. Instead, she tightened her hold on her skirt, her head bowed slightly.

‘I just don’t like denying him my company.’ She said at last.

‘I think he doesn’t like missing it either.’ Loretta replied offhandedly. ‘But you need some time with others and I promise, I’ll get you back to your Mysterious Gentleman before midnight.’

Hailing a cab, Loretta helped Meg into the carriage and got in herself. Turning to look at the blonde, Loretta raised her brows at her friend.

‘Alright, do you have any ideas for your masquerade costume?’ Loretta asked eagerly.

Meg bit her bottom lip, looking out of the window, seeking for an idea to use, trying to sift through her memories of her father’s fairytales 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we get Erik slowly seeming to be more conscious of stuff but not entirely. Unfortunately, Loretta thinks they have a normal ass marriage and so Erik most definitely does that all the time.
> 
> Boi if she knew.
> 
> As always, all your comments and support is so appreciated and thanks so much for enjoying this! The comments continue to motivate me and uhhhh just to tease but I have two other Meg/Erik fics in the work as well!


	29. How Beautiful Is Youth!

_How bright it gleams_  
_With its illusions,_  
_aspirations,_  
_dreams!_  
  
_Book of beginnings._  
_Story without end._  
_Each maid a heroine_  
_And each man_  
_A friend!_

**-How Beautiful Is Youth!, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

* * *

‘We will have to go to town for the materials.’ Erik muttered, noting down Hasan’s measurements on the same page of his sketchbook where he had designed the Desert King attire he had thought of for the Persian. ‘There are specific fabrics I will need just for your costume and then I will have to find material for your lion’s mask as well.’

‘And what  _ are  _ those fabrics?’ Hasan asked, raising a brow at the Phantom who scowled at his friend.

‘Why the sudden interest, Daroga?’ Erik shot back. ‘I seem to recall you hiding from the Shah’s tailors for fittings and skulking back to your chambers the moment the chore is done. Why so interested in fabrics now?’

Hasan shrugged. Yet, Erik could only find himself incapable of trusting the Persian due to a suspicious gleam in his dark eyes.

‘I suppose I only found it strange seeing how you had decided that now is the prime time to get the fabrics for the costume.’ The Persian replied easily. ‘If I didn’t know you, I would think you were trying to find an excuse to be with Little Giry.’ 

‘Don’t be stupid, Daroga.’ Erik snapped at Hasan, his tone stubborn. ‘It is only a coincidence and I  _ am _ planning on going to town eventually.’ He added, his voice becoming almost like a mumble. ‘I was only hoping Meg would have had time to come with me seeing as I know she likes to experience new things.’

‘And new things she  _ will _ experience, Erik.’ Hasan replied, patting Erik on the shoulder. ‘You do not need to tail her to make sure of that.’

‘I am  _ not _ going to tail her!’ Erik protested. ‘I truly do mean to go and fetch the fabrics necessary for our costumes, it was just coincidence that I decided it was today!’ 

Hasan only looked at Erik, unimpressed, before he sighed and shook his head.

‘Very well, Erik. Shall I come with you or is this an errand you wish to accomplish alone?’ 

‘Alone.’ Erik answered decisively. ‘You would only spend the time griping and Hélène looks at me oddly.’

Hasan looked at him for a moment before he nodded.

‘Very well. But you will be back tonight to oversee the night’s running of Phantasma, yes?’

Erik raised a brow at the Persian who rolled his eyes.

‘Yes, yes, stupid question to ask you.’ Waving his hand, Hasan left the study. ‘Just make sure you are back before the night shift begins.’

* * *

‘Is that the design you had in mind?’ Loretta asked, peering over Meg’s shoulder and at the sketch the blonde had managed to do. ‘It’s quite pretty.’ The ginger said at last with a small smile.

Meg looked at Loretta before returning to her sketch. The ginger had insisted on treating her to some food though the establishment they were allowed entry to was one where they got to mingle with the middle classes which was a comfort for the blonde. Though the fare they were served was not filling for her even if she ordered two sandwiches - which earned her an odd look by the waiter.

‘It’s a naiad’s gown.’ She explained, handing the sketch to her friend who took her time to inspect it with eager eyes. ‘My Papa told me this story about a naiad and a fisherman and I thought...perhaps I could honour that story instead.’ 

Loretta nodded, looking at the sketch once more. The ginger was able to see what types of fabrics would be suitable for each layer of the gown and she found herself curious on how many layers of tulle would be needed to give the impression of seafoam and lightness her blonde friend had sketched in the design. Recalling her friend’s husband’s design for his own costume, she wanted to go back and spoil the surprise for him just so he could design the fisherman’s costume so they would match. But she stopped herself and smiled at Meg instead.

‘After we have our lunch, we could go ahead and buy the fabrics.’ Loretta told her friend. ‘Freddy’ll pick us up so we could tour through Phantasma together.’ 

Meg raised her brows at the ginger-haired woman who shrugged slightly. 

‘You haven’t seen Phantasma yet?’ Meg asked, biting into her sandwich. Loretta answered the blonde’s inquiry with an embarrassed smile and Meg nodded. ‘I haven’t seen it completely either.’ The dancer said at last.

Granted, she was hoping to catch Erik at a less busy time to ask for him to tour her around but she was certain he was still quite busy with the performance hall that was being fixed up for its grand opening. Besides, it might be fun wandering around Phantasma with her new friend. Assuring herself that Erik would no doubt be too busy to give her a tour, Meg smiled at Loretta.

‘Well, we can see Phantasma together and see what on earth my husband had been up to.’

‘Splendid!’ Loretta said with a little excited squeal.

* * *

When Freddy came at five o’clock, Meg didn’t know what she was expecting. She was perhaps expecting someone like Raoul. Blond, tall, a boyish charm gracing his features that was slightly marred by a moustache. But instead, she was greeted by someone with a wide, boyish smile, but his skin was dark - like some of the workers that helped build Phantasma and are now living at the seaside - and so were his eyes and hair. His hair was in tight curls and when he caught sight of Loretta, he smiled almost unsurely at the young woman who giggled and rushed forth to throw herself in his arms. Eagerly, he spun her around before pressing his lips against hers, his fingers getting tangled in her red hair. Meg felt her cheeks warm at such open affection and she turned her head, hoping to give the couple some privacy.

‘Freddy, this is Meg!’ Loretta said, at last, dragging the young man to the blonde who turned her attention immediately to the couple when she heard her name being mentioned.

Meg met his dark eyes and she saw a fear and anxiety in them that made her worried about what he thought. Choosing to ignore that worry, Meg smiled and bobbed a curtsy instead. Looking up at him, she noticed broad shoulders and a physique that spoke of a time of hard work, but she still found him to have a boyish playfulness with the way he interacted with Loretta.

‘So you’re Lori’s project.’ He drawled out, his full lips curving up into a wide smile that exposed his teeth. ‘She would not stop boasting about the amazing gown she had bought from you, you know.’ He added with a chuckle as his wife playfully swatted his arm.

‘Oh no, it’s not anything special really.’ Meg protested, her cheeks warming up further. ‘In fact, it’s quite plain-’

‘But from the additions you will be adding to her gown, I’m quite certain that the plainness will disappear.’ Freddy added with a wink. ‘Now, I hope you ladies are done with your shopping because we have quite the night to experience!’ The young man said, grabbing the ladies’ purchases - which Loretta jokingly protested to before yielding to her husband’s overture of help.

Helping both of them into the carriage he came in, Freddy climbed in last and sat himself beside Loretta who was eagerly talking about Meg’s own gown which the blonde was trying to downplay as much as possible. Freddy was only watching as the two bickered about whether or not it would be enough to make Erik fall in love with her all over again.

‘Look, I could guarantee that if it were Freddy seeing me in any nice gown, he would want to court and marry me all over again.’ Loretta pointed out, leaning her weight against her husband who pulled her close.

‘Ah, but you forget, my sweet, I will fall in love with you ever single time the sun rises because it’s like you’re never out of surprises.’ Freddy responded, kissing her knuckles, causing Loretta to giggle.

‘I promise you, Meg, your Erik will have no choice but to fall  _ desperately _ in love with you once he sees you in that gown.’ Loretta assured Meg, in between her husband’s playful kisses.

Meg bit her lip and looked at both of them unsurely before she tried for a smile though it fell short to what her normal smile was.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t know about that.’ She said off-handedly. ‘Erik would say I look good and I think that is enough.’ She mumbled.

As if sensing something was wrong, Freddy paused before he reached forward and placed a comforting hand over Meg’s. He smiled unsurely at the blonde and squeezed her hand gently.

‘Well, whatever his reaction is, Lori and I’ll make sure you’re the belle of the ball when the masquerade comes.’ He said softly. ‘And for tonight? You will be treated to both our presences and you’ll not have to pine for your husband’s attention.’ He added with a small laugh when Loretta pinched his side.

‘If you end up making that Erik boy jealous, Freddy, you’ll not get my syllabubs!’ Loretta proclaimed, putting on an offended tone.

Freddy made a mock-hurt expression, a hand dramatically coming to his chest before he looked at Meg for help. Meg only laughed and buried her face in her hands to stop herself when the couple continued with their playful antics throughout the ride back to the seaside park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we meet Loretta's husband, Freddy, and Meg's made yet another friend! Too bad Erik really wanted to catch Meg but don't worry! Next chapter, he sees Meg at least! And hey, you won't have to wait too long now before he finally realises it! Thanks so much for the continued support and I hope you guys enjoy the story! As always, your comments keep me motivated to keep on writing!
> 
> Also, if you want writing updates, Go check out my writing tumblr along with my experimental art being posted there!  
> [MysteriarchOfThePen](https://mysteriarchofthepen.tumblr.com/)


	30. Jealousy

_VAIN Love, why do'st thou boast of Wings,_  
_That cannot help thee to retire!_  
_When such quick Flames Suspicion brings,_  
_As do the Heart about thee fire._  
  
_Still Swift to come, but when to go_  
_Thou shou'd'st be more–Alas! how Slow._

_Lord of the World must surely be_  
_But thy bare Title at the most;_  
_Since Jealousy is Lord of Thee,_  
_And makes such Havock on thy Coast,_

_As do's thy pleasant Land deface,_  
_Yet binds thee faster to the Place_

**-Jealous, Anne Kingsmill Finch**

* * *

Erik did not encounter Meg when he went to town to buy the fabric he needed for both his and Hasan’s costumes. It was an uncomfortable and - though he will never admit to it - lonely errand. People ended up staring at him for too long while he was making the needed purchases and whenever he caught them looking, they would turn away as if trying to pretend they were not gawking at him in the first place. When he was unable to catch sight of Meg, Erik simply rushed through the rest of his shopping, hailed a cab and made his way back to their house. No doubt she was with Loretta trying to finish that dress she was to make for the masquerade.

Which would mean he would not be able to have dinner with her either.

Erik frowned at the thought and tamped down the rise of an emotion he knew all too well. Jealousy. Though he was more familiar with this emotion overcoming him during his obsession with Christine, he felt that this jealousy had a difference from the all-consuming sort. Still, he pushed it as far back from his mind as he could and tried to reassure himself that what was important was that Meg had made friends, the sort that appeared to want to constantly be by her side. Which might mean Meg would have less time for him. Which should be _fine_ for him.

Sighing, he rapped his knuckles against the roof of the cab to signal the driver to stop. Tipping the driver handsomely - a habit he developed when Hasan began doing so after seeing how little people earned during these times - Erik stepped out and went to the home that was apparently a gift to him and his wife by M. Baker. Granted, he was trying to think of a way to get the old man to retract the gift but by far, he was more stubborn than Erik had been in regards to everything.

The house was lit and he could already smell dinner being cooked. He hoped it was Meg who had cooked, but he knew the silhouette in the kitchen all too well and he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. At least he would not be alone for the night.

‘Is Hasan here?’ Erik asked, entering the kitchen and taking out the plates in order to help Hélène as much as he could. ‘I’ve bought the fabric for the masquerade and I would need to make sure that the fabric would suit his skin tone in person and not just in theory.’

Hélène turned her head slightly to look at him from the corner of his eye and she nodded.

‘Hasan is in the library, though he asked not to be disturbed regarding anything about the masquerade.’ The older woman replied, amusement colouring her voice. ‘I think he wants you to postpone anything about costumes tonight.’ 

Erik huffed and rolled his eyes. Trust Hasan to despise anything about staying still if it wasn’t for the pursuit of further literary knowledge. Granted, he respected Hasan’s scholarly interests and the fact that he was a well-read man only served to add further to his credit. But if he wanted to have this all be over with, then it would be best for him to take a breath and take the plunge. Besides, it wasn’t _him_ that would be making the attire he would be donning that day. Though he wished for nothing more than to drag Hasan out of the library and get everything over with, Erik simply nodded.

‘I’m assuming Meg might not make it to dinner.’ He added as he set the plates on three places of the table, missing the concerned look his mother-in-law threw his way.

‘And why on earth would she miss dinner?’ Hélène asked, her brows creasing.

‘I believe she is with her new friend, Madame Thatcher, Monsieur Baker’s daughter.’ Erik explained as he began gently arranging the cutlery beside the plates. ‘And seeing as she is not yet here, I have no doubt whatsoever that Madame Thatcher had asked Marguerite to stay with them for dinner.’

‘Well, you’re quite correct on one of those assumptions of yours.’ The older woman replied, her tone wry and amused. ‘Meg _is_ with Madame Thatcher.’ Hélène said casually as she stirred the pot of stew she was cooking. ‘As well as Madame Thatcher’s husband.’

Erik froze.

He looked at Hélène who did not seem to be paying attention to him. She was only tasting her cooking and adding a few spices here and there before leaving the stew to boil for a bit longer. It was only when she had done that that the older woman turned her focus upon Erik.

‘Though Meg did say she will try to be back on time for dinner.’ She finished simply, taking the rest of the dinnerware from the Phantom.

‘Meg is here?’ He asked, his voice lost for a moment before gathering himself once more. ‘Where?’

Hélène looked at him with an unreadable expression. For a moment, Erik wanted to demand what it was his mother-in-law was looking at him for but he stayed his tongue.

‘She and Madame Thatcher had been escorted to Phantasma by Monsieur Thatcher.’ The ballet instructor told him.

Erik sucked in a sharp breath before nodding.

‘I shall meet her there then.’ He said decisively. Setting down the rest of the dinnerware, Erik went out of the dining room and snatched his overcoat.

He knew he had been busy enough with preparing the performance hall for Meg but he had hoped to show Meg the lively chaos of the night stalls and games that Phantasma had to offer for the common folk. To know that someone else might be touring her through the amusement park he had developed, there was something that unsettled the Opera Ghost at the mere thought of it.

Shrugging on his coat, Erik began making his way to Phantasma’s blaring lights.

* * *

Meg was not in any of the stalls he had thought to take her to the first time.

Muttering oaths under his breath, Erik drew up his overcoat tighter and tried to move past the throngs of people that were milling about laughing and shouting to be heard over the din of voices. Gritting his teeth, Erik manoeuvred himself past the crowds and into the open space where some food stalls had been set up. Brushing off any dust that had gathered on his clothes, Erik continued his search for his wife. 

It wasn’t until he had gotten to the aisle where the games of strength had been placed that he caught sight of her familiar golden curls.

Speeding up his steps, Erik smiled when he caught sight of Meg’s face, she was smiling and even trying to hide her laugh by bringing her hand up to hide her mouth. She tended to do that when she was in what she considered “polite company”. Of course, seeing as she was in the company of M. Baker’s daughter, Erik was not surprised she would act that way though he found the young lady to be somewhat blunt in comparison to noblewomen he had had the displeasure of witnessing in the darkness of his opera box.

‘Meg!’ He called out to his wife, smiling when she turned her head towards him.

Meeting her gaze, he caught the surprise in her eyes before she made her way to him as well.

‘Erik, I didn’t think you would be here.’ She greeted him, embracing him for a short moment. ‘Mama told me you were out doing errands.’

‘I finished early.’ He replied, omitting the fact that he had some hopes of finding her in town. ‘Your day was productive, I hope?’

Meg shrugged slightly. ‘Loretta had insisted on supplying me with any and all fabrics for both my gown and Mama’s and then she and her husband told me they will show me around Phantasma.’

‘I was hoping to do that for you.’ Erik replied, his brow rising. ‘Frankly, I find it quite insulting that you could not even wait for me.’

Meg giggled and Erik smiled, relaxing at the fact that Meg knew him to only be jesting. Though he was not lying that he would have preferred it more if he had been the one to take her round Phantasma but to see her with her new friends, it was somewhat heartening for him. He was not keen with making new friends for he was content with what he had - Hasan was enough for him - but Meg was social and she clearly needed more friends to help her adjust.

‘I pray Madame Thatcher had been treating you kindly here?’ 

Meg blushed and nodded, looking at the ginger-haired young woman who had noticed Meg’s sudden departure from her company and was looking at him with a strange expression. In the fiery-haired woman’s arms was a stuffed bear. Erik knew that prize, he saw it being set up for the hammer game and he scoffed.

‘I am assuming Madame Thatcher’s husband won that prize for her?’ Erik asked, nodding to the bear.

As if hearing her husband being brought into the discussion, the young woman approached them with a smile on her face.

‘Mister Erik.’ She greeted with a small bob of a curtsy. ‘I thought you were busy.’ She said as she looked at Meg curiously.

‘Erik finished his errands.’ Meg explained, her hands coming to rest on his arm that he had offered her. ‘I was thinking he might join us for the rest of the night?’ She suggested hesitantly.

Erik stiffened at the thought of being included just because Meg suggested it. 

‘I would rather wait for you at home.’ He lied. He wanted to spend some more time with her, show her around, but with Madame Thatcher, he did not know how amenable they would be to him monopolising his wife’s company.

‘Nonsense.’ Loretta cut in. ‘Freddy and I were just worried Meg might be getting neglected so to see you here? That’s a relief to see!’ The ginger told him before going back to the crowd and calling for someone.

‘Monsieur Thatcher was insistent on playing the game again.’ Meg explained when Erik looked at his wife curiously. ‘He said he’d like to test his luck.’

‘And it seems my luck had won another bear!’ Came the response of a smiling young man who seemed to be of African descent. ‘Here you go, Meg!’

Looking at Meg, Erik noticed the blush dusting her cheeks as she accepted the stuffed bear given to her.

‘Oh, Frederic, you didn’t need-’

‘A friend of Lori’s is a friend of mine too.’ The young man replied easily. ‘Besides, you seemed so withdrawn when we’re out here. When you smiled while watching us play games, I figured this is perfect!’

Erik watched as Meg accepted the gift and held the bear close to her. The jealousy he felt reared itself back up once more and Erik clenched his jaw. He did not understand it nor did he wish to but he did know that he wanted to at least show Meg that she needn’t feel neglected or ignored. As far as he knew, they were quite alright.

‘Have you seen the ropeladder game?’ Erik asked, looking at Meg.

His wife shook his head, a smile already on her lips. ‘Will you show it to me, Erik?’ She asked him.

‘If you will allow me.’ He murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have Erik just really getting so close to realising it. I promise you it's almost there! But hey, for now, we have a night at Phantasma!
> 
> Also, if you want semi-original stories in AO3, I have my account, Dartharainor for that! As always, your comments keep me motivated and thank you so much for the continued support!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter! I hope you guys won’t hesitate to comment since they always motivate me to keep on writing!


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